Ashen Mirror
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 17) Curiosity prompts Pvt. Wierzbowski to bond with the squad's medtech, Cpl. Dietrich, and hone a talent he didn't know he had till now.
1. Chapter 1

Every second seemed to pass slower and slower every time someone looked up at the clock. No one was bored, though; the only thing anyone felt at the time was nervousness and fear.

For every second, Wierzbowski's heart would beat twice. He rubbed his face, feeling day-old stubble and traces of sweat running all over. It had been only a half-hour since Drake was brought in for an operation to remove "silver pearls"-a byproduct of silver flower poison-but it felt like more than two hours had passed.

In the seat across from him, Hudson gave a heavy sigh. "They said it'd take, what, three hours, man?"

"Should be no more than that," Hicks replied. "You guys don't have to sit here the whole time. It'll drive you insane. Go get breakfast and coffee."

"You're not coming?" Hudson asked.

"If something happens, someone's gotta be here to get that message. Drake's my responsibility; I should be the one getting that message."

Wierzbowski followed Hudson and Vasquez out of the hospital. They had gotten there early in the morning, so it didn't come as a surprise the sun was just starting to come up as they walked down the steps and into the streets of the city of Washington. A warm pink-orange glow was appearing in the eastern horizon.

"I know Miranda's in there with him, man," Hudson said when the three of them sat down in a café, "Drake's in good hands."

Vasquez gave him a dirty look.

"I know her. She'll take good care of him." Hudson shrugged. "What, you think she's gonna grope him or something?"

"Now is not the time for inappropriate jokes like that," Wierzbowski sighed.

"Well, if you want me to be honest, man, I'm not hungry." Hudson set down his menu. "Gotta do something to lighten the mood."

"You can do better than that."

"He really can't," Vasquez replied, "because his brain's the size of a fucking pea."

"Right. Are you two capable of having a conversation where Vasquez isn't insulting Hudson and Hudson isn't acting braindead."

"He wrote 'braindead' on his helmet for a reason."

Not wanting to further the conversation, Wierzbowski ordered a coffee in an attempt to distract himself. What followed was a heavy silence.

Hudson looked at his watch. "Been almost an hour."

"The procedure is supposed to take three," Wierzbowski said.

Hudson sighed. "This is making me sick, man."

"Now you know how Drake felt when you were stuck in Hornby's lab," Vasquez muttered.

"Don't bring that up. Don't bring that up ever again."

* * *

The three hours turned into four when they returned to the waiting room. There was a hushed conversation between Hicks and one of the surgeons, then Hicks walked over to the anxious group, holding a folder. "Everything's OK. They just took him out. Those pearls aren't easy to remove. They had to add an extra inch to his incision, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about. He's clean now." He opened the folder, and a look of disgust came over his face. "They . . . took pictures. Wow." He showed the group what was inside-both the folder and Drake.

Hudson gagged. "Why, man?"

"Probably for future references and textbooks," Hicks replied. "They're gonna bring him out to recovery soon. We'll head on up, but, just remember, it's gonna take some time for him to wake up and he's gonna feel like crap, so, don't be annoying-looking at you, Hudson. Talk quietly."

They weren't allowed in the room until the doctors finished hooking Drake up to the monitors and IV drip. Wierzbowski was glad it was just them and Drake, so far; the room had three other empty beds, and the curtains weren't going to do much to block out sound.

Drake was still, aside from the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was only partially propped up to keep the bandage from being creased.

Wierzbowski knew just being in the room would be a big help when Drake woke up. They had been serving in the same unit for two years, but only recently did they start getting to know each other. Some saw it as chance-after all, Apone could've chosen anybody else to escort Drake to his civilian prep classes back when they were stationed in Spain, but he chose Wierzbowski for a reason. He knew Wierzbowski had a quiet nature and wouldn't go out of his way to deliberately piss Drake off. And the two had never really interacted with each other.

Plus, Drake was the one who found out Wierzbowski had been drinking alcohol in the bathroom at night. It seemed everyone in this unit had their secrets and problems that they were afraid to show. Drake was a former juvie prisoner, and suffered from PTSD. Vasquez was also a former juvie prisoner. Hudson used to get in lots of trouble at bars, and was trying to deal with the memories from he got poisoned. Hicks was dealing with bipolar disorder after losing a friend to suicide. Spunkmeyer had been adopted by someone who didn't love him. And Wierzbowski had been taken advantage of, divorced, and turned to alcohol to cope.

It looked like a mess, but these things were why the bonds between the Marines were so strong. There was trust and understanding-something some of them may not have had before enlisting. God only knows what could've happened if no one stopped Wierzbowski from breaking his habit the _second_ time around.

That's why he was grateful for Drake, and couldn't bear to see him in such a vulnerable position.

It was also Drake that helped Wierzbowski start searching for love again, and not that long ago, he was set up with a woman whom he genuinely liked after their first date. Expressing that was hard, though, despite Eliza being extremely sweet and willing to help him come out of his shell.

It was the first time in a long time Wierzbowski had been open with anyone about anything, and it had reopened a lot of old wounds he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. He knew his insecurity was a double-edged sword. On one hand, people might try to pressure him into being more confident, but on the other, they might not think highly of him and not bother with him at all, thinking his lack of confidence was too much to deal with. So he refused to talk about it with anyone, despite knowing deep down it was the root of the majority of his issues.

Over an hour later, Drake was starting to show signs of waking up. Hudson got a little excited, but Hicks gestured for him to stay still and seated. "Man . . ." Hudson whispered.

"You can play with Drake when he feels better. Not now," Hicks said.

There were doctors coming in and out to see how Drake was faring. Overall, it seemed like he was going in and out of consciousness. The times he was awake were brief, and it was clear that he wasn't fully conscious.

Hudson got up, slowly and quietly, to go over to the side of the bed and picked up Drake's hand. He was in pain seeing his best friend like this, and he sat there for a solid five minutes, gently massaging Drake's hand with his thumb. "I know you can come outta this, man," he whispered, squeezing his friend's hand a little harder.

"He's going to feel awful when he comes around. Don't be so rough, Hudson," Wierzbowski said.

Hudson didn't respond when he felt Drake's hand try to close around his. A wide smile crossed his face. "Hey, buddy," Hudson whispered.

All Hudson got for a response was a moan, followed by Drake returning to sleep.

Letting go of his hand, Hudson got up and returned to his seat next to Wierzbowski.

"Give him a little more time," Hicks said, reaching over to pat Hudson's shoulder.

Another hour passed before Drake woke up again, and this time, it seemed like he was going to actually wake up. His eyes were open and he was looking around, trying to comprehend where he was.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Hicks said, grinning and folding his arms over his chest. "How're you feeling?"

Drake grunted, and put his head back on the pillow.

"Dammit, he's gonna go back to sleep," Hudson mumbled.

"I don't picture you coming out of surgery feeling like a million bucks," Hicks replied. "I picture you looking like that, but making more noise."

"Drake looks sad," Vasquez said. "Hudson would look half-dead and pathetic."

Wierzbowski looked at his watch. He had a date with Eliza in a few hours, but he didn't feel like leaving Drake. _I already had to postpone one date. I really shouldn't do it again. Drake will be fine. I've got plenty of time here._

After Drake was seen by Miranda Harrison, a student doctor and Hudson's girlfriend, he was slowly regaining more and more consciousness, giving everyone a sense of relief that he was going to be OK. He wanted to talk to everyone one-on-one, and Wierzbowski was up after Hicks.

He entered the room just as Hicks was leaving, and took a chair to sit next to the bed. Despite knowing the answer, Wierzbowski asked the question, "You feeling alright?"

"I feel like crap," Drake replied, somewhat hoarsely. "That's the simplest way I can put it."

"You were in there a little over three hours. They've got the pearls, if you want to see them."

Drake nodded. "If they let me destroy them, sure."

"I don't think they'll let you do that."

The rest of the conversation didn't have a lot of substance. It was mainly small talk, probably because Drake didn't even have the strength to think too hard. He did appear to start falling asleep as they went on, prompting Wierzbowski to leave him alone.

* * *

Hicks didn't order anyone to do anything when they returned to base in the afternoon. The rest of the unit was gathered in the lounge, waiting for news on Drake.

_Almost_ the rest of the unit. Dietrich was nowhere to be found.

"How's he doing?" Frost asked as soon as Hudson stepped in the room.

"He's awake and resting, man," Hudson replied, walking over to the vending machine.

"And he's going to be OK?" Ferro asked.

"Yeah. My girlfriend was in the operating room with him. Of course he's gonna be OK."

Vasquez rolled her eyes.

Part of Wierzbowski felt the reason Dietrich wasn't there was because she had other duties, but Drake was her teammate, too, so surely she wanted to know how he was doing. Without being noticed, Wierzbowski left the lounge, and headed to sick bay.

For the most part, the complex was empty. A couple of medtechs from other units were watching TV in a waiting room, and Bishop was carrying first aid kits down to the loading bay. None of the exam rooms were in use.

Finally, Wierzbowski saw lights on in the storage room. The door was open, and, nervously, he peered inside. Past the aisles of medications and bandages and needles, he could see Dietrich standing in front of a refrigerator, writing labels on bottles. As he approached her, she glanced up at him.

"You know this is a restricted room, right?" she said.

"I know, and . . . I'm very sorry, but . . . I was looking for you, and I . . . I didn't want to shout across the room," Wierzbowski stammered.

"Looking for me for what? Spit it out."

"Drake . . . you know he had his operation today-"

"Everyone knows he had his operation today. What about it?"

"Well, I thought . . . you'd be curious over whether or not he's OK." Wierzbowski tried to look Dietrich in the eye, but she kept working as he spoke to her.

"Alright, well, is he OK?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Wierzbowski looked Dietrich up and down as she continued to work, a little bit baffled at her hasty response.

"You can go now."

"Sorry?"

"I said, you can go now. You're not even supposed to be in here. Did Hicks or Apone tell you to come find me?"

"N-No. I came when I saw you weren't in the lounge with everybody."

Dietrich shook her head. "Not a good excuse for you to be in here, Wierzbowski. I'm trying to finish this up. I'll join the rest of you later."

* * *

Wierzbowski wasn't thinking much about Dietrich's coldness later on, as he was heading out to meet Eliza for their first real date. He was glad it was just going to be the two of them, as their first meeting was a date between Hudson and Miranda, and Drake and Vasquez. There were too many people for them to have a heart-to-heart conversation, even though, at one point, Wierzbowski did reveal his previous problems with alcohol to her.

As he stood at a Metro platform, waiting for Eliza, Wierzbowski gradually became more and more self-conscious as he saw how much he was sweating with nervousness. He blushed when he saw a very thin young woman with reddish hair jogging toward him.

"Hello, 'Ski, it's so good to see you!" Eliza gave him a quick hug before taking his hand. "Why do you look so scared? Come on, it's just us. We're gonna have fun together." She walked him out of the station, and looked up at him. "Aren't you gonna say 'hi,' sweetie?"

"Sorry. Nervous, that's all," Wierzbowski replied.

Eliza thought for a moment. "Oh . . . that's right. Drake had his surgery today."

"Not about that. Drake is alright. I feel awful he's being kept overnight, but that's procedure. Can't imagine him waking up with a nightmare and nobody's there to help him. Ever since we became friends, that's been my job-making sure he's OK when he's got bad dreams or panic attacks."

"You feel guilty."

"No, not really. Visiting hours end at a certain time, so we all had to leave. I hope he'll be fine on his own, poor guy."

"I hope so, too. I apologized to him yesterday about . . . saying he looked mean. He beats himself up a lot, I noticed."

"Get used to it, but . . . he really is a good man when you get to know him. When you let him open up and tell you his problems, he becomes very easy to talk to."

"You became a lot easier to talk to when you told me about . . . well, a couple things in your past." Eliza squeezed Wierzbowski's hand. "Honesty helps, but it also helps to have someone willing to accept the past as is and help you move forward."

"Right." _That person is you, right? You won't run off if things feel like they're too much to handle?_

The restaurant Eliza had picked out for their date had fewer people than Wierzbowski expected, which came as a relief. He took a quiet breath, and tried to look Eliza in the eye. On their first meeting, Eliza had told him that he had nice eyes, something he'd never heard from anyone. He thought Eliza had nice eyes, too, but couldn't figure out how to say so.

"Everything OK? You're staring into nothingness again."

Blinking, Wierzbowski glanced down at the table before regaining eye contact with Eliza. "Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry. I . . . Y-You . . . I think . . . I-I think you've got very . . . pretty eyes."

"Thanks." Eliza smiled. "Anything else on your mind?"

"Oh, I think everything is on my mind. I just have no fucking idea how to put it all into words. I think . . . you should helm the conversation, because . . . I have no idea what I'm doing. Not good with things like this. I'm more of a listener than a talker."

"Sounds like you're a thinker, too. I'm not talking about like, say, someone who thinks about deep and complicated things. I mean, you think a lot about things that seem mundane, or your own life and your past. You put a lot of thought into what you say."

"You're right. I really don't think too much about philosophy and the like. I'm thinking . . . a lot more about my past and my mistakes, and how it's drawn me closer to my comrades, which . . . I didn't think would ever happen. I spent about three years just . . . _existing_ alongside them. They knew a little about who I was, but they also didn't know anything about who I was. I got along with them, but at the same time, I was lonely. Sometimes, it got so bad, I was in pain. Worse yet, I had moments where I wanted to start drinking again. Never did, at least, not until this past Christmas. I kinda . . . well, I caved in to three years of loneliness and certain members of my family not letting go of the past. I don't fully remember why I decided seeing them was a good idea. I left without a trace, but no one was interested in hearing about how I enlisted and became a respected member of a USCM unit. All anyone wanted to talk about was the divorce. Back and forth. Some people actively . . . called me an idiot for not asking more questions when I was with my ex. That pushed me back into a dark place where all I cared about was forgetting."

"How come you never tried to talk to anyone when you first got to your unit?"

"Fear. Not knowing what I could say that would convince everyone that . . . I'm a good person and a hard worker who doesn't let his past get in the way. That's a lie, though, because it does get in the way. I'm afraid of people seeing me as too shy or a pushover, someone who can be easily taken advantage of."

"So far, I see you're a good person, and a hard worker, who keeps going despite his past getting in the way. You're not reaching for the stars or anything, but you're getting by. Just getting through each day without crashing and giving in to drinking is an achievement."

Wierzbowski nodded. "Drake has said something similar a couple times."

"I take it Drake has been a crucial part in getting you to . . . open up about what's going on in your life."

"Yeah. He did find the empty flask in the bathroom and approached me about it when he had a feeling it belonged to me. He does understand what it's like to hide a serious problem, and knows how bad things can get if you just keep hiding it."

Another smile crossed Eliza's face. "So you guys mean a lot to each other. That's good."

"It's funny because no one really liked Drake when he and Vasquez arrived. Over time, people started to trust them and appreciate them, and understand who they are. Except for Dietrich. Her and Drake don't fully get along."

"Why's that?"

Wierzbowski paused. "Honestly . . . I'm not sure. Dietrich has never really gotten along with anyone, and she's the medtech."

"Is she . . . the type of person who's really focused on her work?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah, she is."

"Well, then she's more focused on her work than a social life. Lots of people like that. Most of the time, they're not bad, but they don't settle down until they reach a point in their career where they're satisfied."

"She is a corporal, so . . . I guess that all makes sense. And here I thought maybe something's been bugging her."

* * *

_Question: How does Wierzbowski's attitude toward love differ from Drake's or Hudson's?_


	2. Chapter 2

It was easy to see Wierzbowski was still shy about physical contact with Eliza, and it certainly didn't help that she was significantly smaller than him. She had to be less than five-and-a-half feet tall, and less than half his weight. He was tall and well-built, so he was afraid too hard of a hug might break her in half.

Nevertheless, he wanted to make sure this relationship was moving forward. He could be gentle with her, but he didn't want to be so gentle that it seemed like he was afraid of any form of intimacy.

_This might be a little awkward._ Walking alongside Eliza in the streets, Wierzbowski tried to initiate the hand-holding. Hand-holding seemed easy enough. He watched her arms swinging naturally as she walked, and held out his hand to let hers fall into it.

Eliza glanced at him, and smiled. "You're adorable."

Wierzbowski struggled to find a response, so he said nothing. His cheeks flushed red.

"It's a compliment." Eliza reached up to pat Wierzbowski's face. "Come on, I know you can smile. I saw you smile the other day when we were hiking."

"I'll do it when I feel like it." _That wasn't the right thing to say. Not the right thing at all. Dammit._

"That's OK. I can tell a fake smile from a real one. I don't want you to be fake-smiling."

"I don't want to fake-smile, either." _There's other ways to show I like you and I'm happy with what you're doing so far, right? _Wierzbowski pondered that for the rest of the evening, realized his window of opportunity was closing when he and Eliza had to part ways for the night at the Metro. This was their first date alone together, but he wanted to show he was willing to do this again. With less than ten minutes until Eliza's train was supposed to arrive, Wierzbowski tried to swallow his nerves, and hugged her when she faced him, despite his heart pounding so hard it was impossible for her not to feel it.

He was afraid his breathing would be another indicator he was nervous. _She can already feel how fast my heart is going. I shouldn't give anymore hints I'm afraid of messing up._

"Don't forget to breathe, 'Ski." Eliza looked up at him. "Everything OK?"

Wierzbowski was tempted to let go, but something was telling him to keep holding her. This wasn't something he got in his first marriage. _That's mainly what I'm afraid of; this relationship turning into my first marriage. Already . . . I feel like this'll be different. _"Yeah, everything's OK. D-Do you want me to let go?"

"If I didn't have to go home, I'd say 'no.' Can I give you a kiss goodbye?"

Gently lifting her up so she could put her arms around his neck, Wierzbowski let Eliza kiss his cheek. Drake had said the second date was a good place to start kissing, but Wierzbowski felt something holding him back. He just got past his anxiety over hugging; it was a good place to stop. Maybe the third date, he'd try initiating a kiss.

"I know we didn't do a lot, but I had fun," Eliza said. "I think you'd enjoy something where it's just the two of us, and I mean really just the two of us. There's an old farm way outside of town. We can explore and we don't have to worry about lots of people."

"I . . . guess we can do that," Wierzbowski replied. "I mean, is it safe? We won't get in trouble, will we?"

"No. It's been empty for a few years. We'll be fine." Eliza kissed him again. "I gotta go, sweetie. Have a good night."

"You, too." Wierzbowski set her down, watching her board her ride home. A variety of emotions were stirring in his chest. It was like a liquid that had to keep being stirred to keep it from thickening, and his emotions had definitely thickened after years of disuse. It would take awhile for them to thin and flow smoothly, and it would be a somewhat painful process.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go through that process.

* * *

Wierzbowski peered into the lounge to find Hudson and Spunkmeyer playing a round of pool. A baseball game was on the TV screen, which only Hicks and Crowe seemed to be watching. Frost was on one of the arcade machines, and Ferro was watching Spunkmeyer. Again, no Dietrich.

"How was your date, man?" Hudson asked.

"It was alright," Wierzbowski replied.

Spunkmeyer gave Wierzbowski a look. "You? A date?" He looked at Hudson. "You fucking with me?"

"Nope. Wierzbowski's got a girlfriend, man," Hudson said.

Spunkmeyer started laughing. "OK. Yeah, it'll take more than that to convince me. You got pictures?"

Wierzbowski shook his head. "Haven't gotten the opportunity yet."

Spunkmeyer looked back at Hudson. "Don't you kid around with me like that. There's no way in hell 'Ski's got a legit girlfriend."

"Uh, I'm telling you, man, she's real," Hudson replied, not looking up from the pool balls.

Sighing, Wierzbowski left the lounge. _If they don't believe me, fine. _At least Hudson did, and Drake. He could always talk to Drake.

Wierzbowski paused in front of Drake's room, suddenly remembering that Drake was still at the hospital. A weight dropped in his heart, and he turned away, realizing that weight was loneliness.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dietrich and Apone coming down the hall. "'Ski," Apone said, "come down to my office for a minute." He led Wierzbowski and Dietrich down to a small room where he and Hicks did paperwork and meetings with officers, and stood behind his desk, chewing on a cigar. "Earlier today, did you go in the med storage room without permission?"

"Yes, sir," Wierzbowski replied, his face flushing red with shame.

"OK. I'm normally lenient on stuff like this because I trust you people, but because you're being seen by Doctor Ranelli for your drinking problem, you can't be in that room. Even with permission, you'd need an escort, you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're not the only one. Drake can't go in there. Even Hicks can't go in there without an escort. Don't do it again. And Dietrich? Play nice with 'Ski. All he was doing was telling you Drake's OK. Nothing to get your skivvies in a knot over. I'm sure you'd feel the same way if one of your friends was having surgery."

As they left the, Wierzbowski heard Dietrich mutter to herself, "Don't have any friends."

"What was that?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Nothing."

"No. Not nothing. You just said you don't have any-"

"It's none of your business. None."

Without another word, Wierzbowski slunk off to his room. _I didn't do anything to her. I don't think I did anything to her. Obviously, I did something wrong._

* * *

"This is a very sad excuse for French toast, man," Hudson said with his mouth full. He lifted a soggy piece of bread with his fork, and dropped it back into the runny syrup.

"Why don't you make breakfast, then?" Hicks asked.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Apone replied.

"No."

"Exactly."

Hudson looked across the table at Wierzbowski. "How come you look so sad, man?"

Emerging from his thoughts, Wierzbowski glanced over at Hudson. "Nothing. Just got lost in thought." He looked at Dietrich, and she quickly looked away. "Hicks, when are we going to see Drake?"

"Ranelli just went down to check on him," Hicks replied. "He sounded concerned when I brought up Drake had to stay overnight, so we'll give him some time to take care of Drake, alright?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "I think we're all a little concerned."

"Drake should've taken care of this beforehand by letting the doctors know about what's going on," Dietrich said.

"Yeah, and what are they gonna do about it?" Hudson asked. "Drake won't trust them, and you know that."

"Whether or not he trusts them is not important. He's only staying for two or three days, and he should be grateful they even try to help him. If it was two or three weeks, that's different. It's only two or three days. He'll live."

Ferro exchanged a look with Spunkmeyer, who gave that same look to Hudson, who said, "Jesus Christ, Dietrich, you got a fucking block of ice for a heart."

"Don't start, Hudson," Hicks ordered, "or you're staying here when we go to the hospital."

That shut Hudson up fairly quickly.

Dietrich's comments that morning, and the day before, continued to sit in the back of Wierzbowski's mind. Even when visiting Drake, he was tempted to bring the subject up, but debated with himself whether or not that was a good idea.

Drake was looking a little better, but his eyes were dull and he sounded tired when he spoke. Despite that, he seemed to want to hold a longer and deeper conversation. _I won't bring up Dietrich. I don't think he's going to care, at least, not now. _Wierzbowski sat next to the bed, searching for something to start a conversation with. "Have they got you up and moving around?"

"No, not yet," Drake said. "I don't feel ready. Hell, they've been hesitant on giving me food. I mean, they gave me a small thing of bland oatmeal." Drake shook his head. "Not enough. I'm starving. I think I can take in more."

"How was . . . last night?"

Drake's expression changed. He stared into space for a moment, and then sighed. "Not good. Just . . . nightmares. Very bad nightmares." He rubbed his face. "I woke up and cried. I was calling for you and Hudson and Vasquez. Nothing happened. Eventually, I just cried myself to sleep."

An icicle of guilt pierced through Wierzbowski's stomach. "I'm sorry none of us could be there for you. Really, I wish I . . ."

"I couldn't force you to stay here. Hospitals are spooky at night. Besides, you had a date with Eliza. I can't pull you away from that." Though his eyelids were becoming heavy, Drake was trying to study Wierzbowski's face. "What else's on your mind? You look like something's bugging you."

"You'll probably fall asleep as I'm talking."

"I'll do my best to stay awake." Drake tried to smile. "If I do fall asleep, just shake me. Gently, though. If you have something bothering you, I owe you a listen, because that's what you've been doing for me the last couple months."

"Thanks." Wierzbowski took a breath. "Well . . . yesterday, I tried talking to Dietrich about what's going on with you. Everyone else was waiting to hear a report, and she . . . wasn't, I guess. She was working in the medical storage room. I know she's got a lot of other jobs, but I didn't think she'd . . . just brush you off. I told her you were doing OK, and all she said was, 'Good. Now leave.'"

Drake thought for a moment. Wierzbowski could tell the gears in his head were taking their time. "Dietrich's always been a bit . . . distant. Kinda like me when I first joined." Drake shrugged. "Maybe she needs someone to listen to her about something. Try talking to her. I know I don't get along with her, but . . . you have that gift that allows you to connect with people."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I can give it a shot." He stood up. "Alright. I'll let you rest. Hopefully, we'll bring you home tomorrow."

* * *

Much to Wierzbowski's surprise, he found Dietrich sitting out in the exercise yard instead of tucked away somewhere in sick bay. She looked up once when she heard him, and then immediately looked away.

"Do . . . Do you mind if I sit with you, for a little bit?" Wierzbowski asked.

"You need something?" Dietrich replied.

"Yes, actually. I just . . . wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

Wierzbowski fell silent, trying to word his thoughts properly. "Well, about yesterday, actually. I shouldn't have said anything when you were talking to yourself leaving Apone's office. You're right; it wasn't any of my business. I mean, I talk to myself, too, sometimes. Guess it helps you get your thoughts in a row."

Dietrich shook her head. "I was angry, that's all. If you didn't have 'alcohol addiction' on your papers, I wouldn't have given a crap about you being in the med storage. The fact that you were in there when you shouldn't have been only pissed me off because . . . I could get in trouble for not getting you out."

"If you'd said that, I would've left sooner. I guess it's a good thing we've got Apone and Hicks. Henley . . . probably wouldn't have let that go."

Dietrich looked down at the grass. "I know I'm in the minority, but I was OK with Henley as corporal. It took me way too long to get used to Hicks."

"I liked Hicks from the start. I mean, things got a tad complicated when he . . . he flipped his shit on everyone, but, even that was something we got used to."

"That's true. Truthfully, it wasn't something you could really get used to, because it was scary, seeing Hicks like that. The fact that he's done it recently . . . doesn't help."

"You can't blame him for it, though. Besides, he's good at what he does, and he genuinely cares about each of us."

Dietrich didn't offer a response. She continued looking down, winding a blade of grass around her index finger. "For all his faults, Hicks has put more effort into making sure you guys are happy. He takes care of your mental health. I take care of your physical health."

"Frankly, and, correct me if I'm wrong, I actually thought . . . you know, y-you had some training in mental health, when you became a medic."

Dietrich shook her head. "No. You can elect to take an extra four-week training session in mental health. I didn't."

"How come?"

"Didn't want to." She shrugged. "There's no point. I'm . . . I'm good with healing people, physically, but I can't . . . for the life of me, help someone with things going on in their head."

"I guess that's why you've never attempted to help Drake or Hicks."

She nodded, looking somewhat ashamed.

"Hey, don't feel bad about it. Not everyone can do it. Sometimes it comes naturally, and sometimes it takes a bit of help. I mean, I know Drake . . . he doesn't need you to understand exactly how he's feeling, he just wants you listening. With me, it's pretty much the same, and I think Hicks does need someone who understands what he's feeling. Like I said, don't feel bad about it."

Dietrich looked in Wierzbowski's direction, and finally made eye contact with him. Her gaze wasn't held steady, as her eyes kept darting away after only a few seconds of looking solidly in his, almost like she was trying to force herself to look.

Wierzbowski was just glad he got Dietrich to open up a bit. He offered her a slight smile. "I know I said that . . . what you said last night was none of my business, but . . . I don't think you can say you don't have any friends anymore."

He half-expected her to get mad, but instead, she looked away, and said, "I'll have to think about that."

* * *

Hicks asked Wierzbowski to help with taking Drake back to base when he was released from the hospital the next morning. Drake looked like he was going to be sick the whole time Hicks and Wierzbowski walked him out of the building. Riding the Metro didn't help; when the train lurched, so did Drake's stomach. Wierzbowski felt the muscles in Drake's torso relaxing and contracting as he heaved what little he ate onto the floor.

"We gotcha, don't worry," Hicks said, helping Drake sit back up. When they returned to base, Hicks brought Drake to his room, telling him to rest for the day, and told Wierzbowski to tell the others not to disturb him.

At least it was easy to find everyone-they were all in the lounge . . . watching Hudson stick gumballs in his cheeks.

_That's very mature._ Wierzbowski sighed. "Hey . . . gentlemen, ladies?"

Everyone turned to face him, making his face flush red. Drool was running from Hudson's mouth, as he couldn't close it due to all the gumballs. He looked ridiculous.

Wierzbowski swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Um . . . we brought Drake home, and . . . Hicks's orders are to not disturb him for the rest of the day."

Hudson gave him two thumbs up, and said something completely incomprehensible. More spit ran down his chin.

Wierzbowski shook his head. "If you didn't look like an idiot, maybe I'd be able to understand you."

"Lighten up, 'Ski," Crowe called.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Wierzbowski headed to sick bay. Dietrich was in one of the exam rooms, changing the sanitation fluid that the thermometers were in. She jumped when he appeared in the doorway. "Dammit, don't do that!"

"Sorry. I just . . . I . . ." _Just speak._ "Do you need help with anything?"

"You're not a medic, so, no."

"Well, I'm not hanging out with everyone else, and there's nothing else I'm good for. Drake's asleep. Hudson's being a fucking moron-"

"Oh, what else is new? Hudson's always a moron."

"He's got about ten gumballs in his mouth right now."

"Seriously? If he chokes, _I_ have to deal with him, and I don't want to deal with him. Already deal with him more than I should."

"No one's going to forget the time he got himself stuck in one of the washing machines."

"Or the time he got his hand stuck in the cereal dispenser because he was looking for more raisins."

Wierzbowski grinned. "Apone was laughing too hard to get mad. H-He thought Hudson getting his hand stuck was punishment enough."

"It was nice seeing him in that good of a mood, though. Hicks was livid."

"Yeah, he was." Wierzbowski leaned against the doorway. "Good times."

Dietrich thought for a moment, measuring out fresh sanitation fluid into the thermometer jar. She sighed. "Alright, if you really want to do something, go grab the first-aid kit checklists from the waiting room."

When Wierzbowski returned with the lists, Dietrich led him down to storage. "You're with me, so, I'm not complaining this time. OK, we got ten new kits this morning, and every time we get new kits, we need to check them. Even though they come with lists that say they've been checked and they have all the necessary equipment, sometimes there's a fuck-up, so, I check them myself. You're just going to read off the list, and I'm going to make sure that item is in the kit. Can you handle that?"

Wierzbowski nodded, watching Dietrich cut open a cardboard box full of first-aid kits. They sat on the floor, and Dietrich pulled out a bunch of crumpled papers. "Jesus, they don't even fold them neatly. That's the first sign there might be stuff missing." She took out one of the kits. "This is a small. Make sure you're on a list marked 'small.'"

"Got it," Wierzbowski replied.

Opening the kit, Dietrich handed Wierzbowski a pen. "Go."

"Alright. Tape."

"Got it."

"Bandage roll, small."

"Got it."

"Scissors, small."

"Got it."

"Gauze."

"Got it."

It took them over an hour to get through each kit, but it was a surprisingly rewarding experience-for both of them. Wierzbowski was admittedly afraid at first to ask questions, but found Dietrich was glad to answer them. When they finished up, Wierzbowski got up to leave, and heard Dietrich say, "One more thing, 'Ski."

He turned to face her, noticing she was looking him in the eye without her gaze wavering.

Then she dropped it. "I forgot. You can go now."

Without a word, Wierzbowski left sick bay, but he could've sworn he heard Dietrich giving a sad sigh as he walked out of storage.

* * *

_Question: Is Drake right when he says Wierzbowski has an ability to connect with people, or is he just saying that in an attempt to instill confidence in his friend?_


	3. Chapter 3

As he left sick bay, Wierzbowski decided to keep his fledgling friendship with Dietrich to himself. After all, he didn't want anyone to be thinking the two of them were dating, especially since Wierzbowski had a girlfriend. Thinking he and Dietrich were in love was bad, but thinking he was cheating on Eliza was worse.

_Maybe I should just be honest and say Dietrich and I are getting along. No harm in that. _Wierzbowski passed by the bedrooms, and glanced into Drake's. No one was inside. _Poor guy. Probably got restless and went for a walk. _

It turned out that Drake and Hudson had gone somewhere for lunch, and to talk. Later on, the three of them gathered in the courtyard and talked more. Drake still looked tired, but that was to be expected. The day continued to wind down slowly. As the clock ticked closer to lights-out, a blanket of silence was beginning to drape over the base. People left the lounge in order to shower and relax before bed. Wierzbowski could remember his last night before shipping out to boot camp wasn't as quiet-his roommate, a young man he never got to catch the name of, had been playing music while showering in the hotel room.

Wierzbowski had been twenty-three when he enlisted. That was certainly not the oldest anyone could be for enlistment, but to several of the guys in his division, it seemed odd. After all, he wasn't right out of university, nor had he chosen to enlist after completing secondary school, but whatever he did in that five-year gap was his business alone.

A panicked scream broke the silence, and Wierzbowski's thoughts. The scream had come from right next door-Drake's room. Without a second thought, Wierzbowski went out into the hall, and barged into Drake's room, hearing water running in the bathroom. _Bloody hell, he's in the shower. _At least the bathroom door wasn't locked. "Drake? Drake, are you alright in there?"

The only response he got was another scream, followed by Drake trying to gasp for breath.

_Flashback. _Throwing open the shower door, Wierzbowski saw Drake was slumped on the floor. He also noticed the large band around the center of his torso, which the doctors had given him to protect his bandage in the shower. It looked a little tight.

Grabbing a towel, Wierzbowski shut the water off before pulling Drake out of the shower. He was still gasping, trembling, and the look in his eyes suggested he wasn't there, in reality. It was such a haunting, awful look. Wierzbowski set Drake against the wall, taking another towel to dry the brace in order to remove it.

"Get it off, please!" Drake hollered.

"Just relax, I have to let it dry first." Wierzbowski's heart wrenched tighter. _I'd just rip the damn thing off if I could._ He couldn't bear to watch Drake suffer, but what more could he do? "Calm down . . . I'm right here. It's alright. It'll be off soon, I promise." He cursed to himself as he kept trying to pull the Velcro of the brace apart. _Come on . . . dry faster, dammit. _Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief when the Velcro came apart, and he took the brace away from Drake's chest. "It's off. Breathe."

Drake was pale from shock. He tried (and failed) to keep tears from running down his face.

_I'm sorry you have to deal with this every single day._

* * *

In the morning, Wierzbowski quietly headed to sick bay after the unit's daily exercises. He expected to find Dietrich somewhere, but didn't realize he had gotten there before her.

"What're you doing here?"

Wierzbowski turned around to see Dietrich standing behind him. A well-worn paperback novel was in her hands, and she glanced down to look at her bookmark when Wierzbowski faced her. "I was . . . looking for you, actually," he replied. "I mean, you . . . seemed to enjoy yourself yesterday. I thought . . . maybe there was more we could do, together."

"There's nothing to do today. At least, not now." Dietrich looked up at him, a little confused. "What makes you think I enjoyed myself yesterday?"

"You seemed a bit happier than you usually are, and I . . . I actually enjoyed myself as well. I don't think you're a bad person at all."

Dietrich looked down at her book, then back up at Wierzbowski. "You . . . enjoyed spending time with me?"

"Yeah."

Losing the confused look, Dietrich maintained her gaze on Wierzbowski. She put her book in her back pocket. "Well . . . I have nothing. I'm sorry."

"Not a thing?"

"No."

Wierzbowski figured it was best to just leave Dietrich alone. Let her come to him, whenever she wanted, and if she didn't . . . well, she didn't.

Two days later was a different story, though, all because Drake and Hudson had a fight at two in the morning. By accident, Hudson had popped one of the stitches holding Drake's incision together, so Dietrich had to sew it back up.

Neither Dietrich or Wierzbowski looked happy about waking up to this. Wierzbowski had been the one to pull Drake and Hudson apart, and carried Drake to sick bay as blood appeared on his bandage. After setting Drake down on the table, Dietrich entered the room wearing a mask and scrubs. She clearly wasn't thinking about her and Wierzbowski's interactions over the last few days; somebody was hurt and needed her attention.

Dietrich numbed Drake before cutting off his bandage. She sighed. "'Ski, make sure he's not looking."

Nodding, Wierzbowski gently held Drake's head still, and watched Dietrich work. His stomach turned a little, and found himself holding Drake's head a little harder.

"Relax, 'Ski. If you're nervous, he'll be nervous, and then I won't be able to work on him." Dietrich looked at Wierzbowski. "Take a deep breath. Look at something else."

Swallowing and nodding again, Wierzbowski glanced around the room, and settled his gaze on Dietrich.

"Just not me."

"Right. Sorry."

Dietrich didn't say a word for the rest of the procedure, nor did it take her long to finish. When she finished up the stitch, she grabbed a new bandage wrap, and attempted to replicate what the hospital had given Drake in the first place. "Lift him a little, 'Ski," she said.

Wierzbowski lifted Drake's torso a bit, letting Dietrich run the bandage roll under him.

Drake sighed, looking a little woozy from the anesthetic. "She's almost done, right? Why can't you just do a simple bandage on top? I don't need to be wrapped up like a fucking mummy."

Dietrich gave him a dirty look, snipping the bandage and taping it down. After applying the last piece of tape, she said, "Go to bed, Drake. Apone's gonna rip you and Hudson some new assholes in the morning for this." As Drake shuffled down the hall, Dietrich turned to Wierzbowski. "You did good. I usually don't like trusting non-medical personnel with stuff like this, but . . . you listened, you didn't fuck around. I'm . . . It's safe to say that I'm impressed."

"Thank you." Wierzbowski smiled a little. "I . . . w-when they did first-aid training in boot camp, I didn't . . . I was nervous the whole time, and, even though I passed, I didn't do too well. Drill instructor even told me he was glad I wasn't becoming a corpsman, because I'd get people killed."

Dietrich took off her gloves. "If I was better at talking to people, I'd offer to teach you some things regarding first-aid. How to treat your teammates, even how to treat yourself, if needed. But . . . I can't. I'll be brutally honest with you; I can't teach another human being to save my life. You get along with me now, you sure as hell won't if I teach you, 'Ski."

"I'd listen to you. I won't do anything to piss you off-"

"I said I can't do it! I've got enough to worry about without an unofficial student of all things! Don't bring it up again!" She looked like she was about to cry.

Wierzbowski took a breath. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Fine."

"Is . . . there something going on, personally? You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

"You wouldn't understand." Dietrich turned to walk away.

"Maybe I don't need to understand. Maybe all I need to do is listen to you!" Wierzbowski called to her. "Isn't that enough?"

"What works for trauma-boy won't work for me!" Dietrich disappeared into another room, slamming the door behind her.

Standing alone in the hallway, Wierzbowski wondered just what he had done to upset Dietrich. He glanced up at a clock, noting it was past three in the morning. An awful time to be awake. Since he had no other reason to be in sick bay, he headed back to his room, only to be stopped by Hicks in the living quarters hall.

"Were you and Dietrich fighting?" Hicks asked.

His chest heavy with sadness, Wierzbowski swallowed past a lump in his throat. _It's easier to just say I'm wrong. I shouldn't blame Dietrich. It's my fault. _"No. I said something wrong, and it . . . it upset her."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No, sir, I'd just like to sleep. I'm sorry."

* * *

Riding a bus out to where Eliza wanted him to meet her, Wierzbowski tried to put his struggles with Dietrich in the back of his mind. If she was going to give him a hard time, he shouldn't bother with her, but he did try to look at it from her angle. _She did say she's got no friends. I'm starting to understand why she doesn't; the others are right. She can be unbearable. Every time I try to figure out what's going on in her head, she shuts me out. Obviously, something's up, and she is lonely. I get that impression every time we talk, save for the last time. She does want me around. She doesn't want me in a romantic sense, but she does want a friend, at least._

The bus stopped, prompting Wierzbowski to leave this set of thoughts and move on to another. As he stepped off the vehicle, he saw Eliza at the end of the street, and walked toward her. She was dressed in slightly baggy overalls.

"You're serious about this farm thing, aren't you?" Wierzbowski said, smiling a little.

"I am." Eliza stood on her toes to hug him, then gestured to her overalls. "You don't like it?"

"I don't mind, if you want me to be honest."

"Is . . . something bothering you?"

Wierzbowski shook his head.

"If there was, would you tell me?"

He nodded.

"Don't be afraid to use your words, sweetie." Eliza took Wierzbowski's hand, leading him down a couple streets before coming to a long, seemingly empty road. The setting sun painted the sky a pale pinkish-orange, which darkened further in the west. In the east, it was beginning to turn a dark blue, with faint stars gradually twinkling into view.

"It's really pretty here, in the fall," Eliza said. "I've been walking this road since my dad first took me when I was little. The farm we're going to? It used to be running, but then the guy decided that it was time for a change, and after selling everything, the buildings were just left there. Since then, I still walk up there, and it's become a place where I can just sit and think and not have to worry about anything."

"If it's your place of solitude, why take me there?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Because I like you, and trust you. Sharing that place with you . . . means something."

"What is it about me that you like?"

"This is going to sound very cheesy, but . . . I liked you when we started talking to each other in the restaurant a couple weeks ago. Miranda had told me a little bit about you, from what Hudson told her, and I had a good feeling about you. I've done blind dates before, and they didn't always turn out well."

"None of them took money from you or tried to accumulate debt in your name, did they?"

"No, thank God. Much of it was just things not working out, not really getting along. With you . . . after talking to you, and the fact that you were really honest about your past, something . . . felt right. You get that?"

"I've only had one relationship, and it crashed harder than Hudson after five ice cream cones, so . . . I don't exactly get it, and . . . I'm sorry. I mean . . . I . . . Over the last few years, I haven't thought about actually finding love again. Believe me, I wasn't expecting Drake and Hudson to just drop this bomb on me, a-and . . . I didn't know what to expect. All I was hoping to get was someone who wouldn't take advantage of me, who'd listen to me, and be patient with me. So far . . . I think I've got that from you. If you really couldn't stand me, you wouldn't have wanted to have a second date with me. You probably wouldn't have wanted to be around me after learning about . . . what I was in the past. I'm well aware that . . . I wasn't at my best, last time we met. I know you're more of a people-person than I am, and I know most extroverted people wouldn't be able to put up with me. You've . . . You've shown that you can, and . . . I don't want to let that go." _Oh, God, none of that was the right thing to say. None of it. I've made myself sound clingy._

"'Ski?"

"What?"

"I don't want to let go, either. As I said before, I really like you. You don't deserve to go through life feeling alone, like you don't have a shot at love." Eliza squeezed Wierzbowski's hand tighter. "I know you said you weren't expecting this. You've heard the saying, 'Good things come when you least expect it,' right?"

"Yeah."

She smiled. "You weren't expecting it, and a good thing came."

There was still a tiny bit of daylight left when they arrived at the abandoned farm. The space of land where a cornfield once stood was just grass now. A full moon was glowing brighter and brighter as daylight continued to fade, making fireflies start to flicker in the grass. Rabbits scampered back to their tunnels as Eliza led Wierzbowski up the field. They paused at the furthest edge. The hill gradually sloped downward to more empty land. Miles and miles of open space, dotted with trees. There were a couple houses, and further away were more houses, clustered closer and closer in the suburbs of the big city.

All this time, Eliza hadn't let go of Wierzbowski's hand. "Isn't it pretty?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Very quiet, too."

"You can see more from the barn."

Wierzbowski followed Eliza into the old, empty structure. It was dark, save for the moonlight spilling in through the windows and cracks in the walls. There was a loft under one of the windows, once covered in hay. Eliza let go of Wierzbowski's hand to climb up the ladder to get to the loft.

"Is that safe?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I've climbed up this many times, 'Ski, I'm OK." Eliza looked down at him. "Come on up."

Closely following her, Wierzbowski didn't hide the fact that he was afraid of the ladder collapsing under his weight, but the sturdy thing held up. He sat next to Eliza, facing the open field where they had been standing just a few minutes before. A crow landed on the roof, giving a harsh call.

Eliza faced Wierzbowski, moving closer to him. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah. It's nice to . . . be alone, with just you. I'm glad that I got to say a couple of things on my mind to you, and . . . not feel embarrassed about it."

Eliza put her arms around him, snuggling as close as she could. They were completely alone, and Wierzbowski felt less shy about being affectionate; he hugged her back, gently pressing her against his chest and resting his head on top of hers. _This is perfect, _he thought.

Why stop there, though? Wierzbowski kissed Eliza's forehead, and that prompted her to look up at him, smiling at his confidence. She moved her arms up around his neck, pulling his head down to kiss him full on the lips.

The feeling of bliss was light, and yet it struck Wierzbowski with the force of a freight train. It was a strange feeling, one he had never felt before, but it was a welcome one. He didn't pull away from Eliza; he kept it going, holding her tight in the process.

When he was told to "kiss the bride" at his first wedding, there wasn't anything genuine about it. There was no love, or passion. There was nothing. A façade to cover up the fact that this woman was using Wierzbowski for old debts never paid. A façade to make everyone in their families think life was good for them. What followed wasn't happiness, but loneliness and emptiness for Wierzbowski.

This kiss with Eliza wasn't breeding loneliness or emptiness. It was breeding happiness, and passion, and love. When they pulled away to breathe, Eliza was smirking, and used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the tears from Wierzbowski's face. "I love you," she whispered.

The feeling of happiness continued to swell within his chest. He didn't question her, or tell her he was unlovable. There was only one thing he could say that would make everything so much better. "I love you, too."

* * *

It was getting close to curfew when Wierzbowski returned to base. He was happy with how that date went, but a part of him wanted to keep that success to himself. _No one's going to believe me. Spunkmeyer will just laugh . . . everyone will. Except Drake and Hudson, obviously._

He walked into the complex to find it was quiet, and he glanced up at a clock. Ten minutes to lights-out. He was twenty minutes past curfew. Looking at his watch, he cursed when he realized the damn thing was off by almost forty minutes. Panic surged in his gut when he saw Hicks approaching him.

"Everything OK?" Hicks asked.

"Sir, I-I-I'm so sorry, I'm late. I . . . My . . . My watch . . ."

"It's alright. Go take a shower and wind down. Did you enjoy your date?"

Relief shoved out the panic. "I did, thank you for asking, sir. Actually . . . really successful, in terms of my relationship."

Hicks grinned. "I'm very happy for you. Hey, we'll talk more in the morning, OK?"

Nodding, Wierzbowski headed to his room. Along the way, he spotted Dietrich entering hers, and decided to snag an opportunity to make things right with her. "Dietrich?"

She was about to close the door, but stuck her head out anyway. "Yeah?"

"I'm . . . sorry about a couple mornings ago. When I tried pressuring you into telling me . . . what's going on. It's none of my business."

"No, 'Ski, I'm sorry-" Dietrich looked around. "It's be best if we talked in the morning. Alone."

* * *

_Question: Are Wierzbowski and Dietrich more similar than they realize? Why or why not?_


	4. Chapter 4

Hicks marched in front of everyone as the Marines stood outside their bedroom doors, making sure everyone's belt was straight and their T-shirts were tucked in. "Looking good . . . Looking good . . . Hudson, tuck your fucking shirt in. This should be a common sense habit for you by now!"

Hudson gave an obnoxiously loud yawn and scratched his belly before finally tucking his shirt in his pants. "Too early, man."

"You wanna eat last? Shut the fuck up and just do what I tell you." Hicks looked at Drake, who appeared to be asleep on his feet. "You can go on down to the mess hall, Drake. Alright, Wierzbowski, after Drake. Hudson, Vasquez, Spunkmeyer, Ferro, Frost, Crowe, Dietrich-come on, my little ducklings, move it. It's a fucking joke, Spunkmeyer, don't start waddling, you smartass."

"Hicks?" Dietrich spoke up. "Requesting permission to go down to the base plaza after chow?"

"If you got no other duties, yeah-Hudson, I saw that!"

"Saw what, man?" Hudson called.

"Saw you stick your hand in your trousers!"

"My shirt was bunched up, man!"

Wierzbowski gave a quiet sigh of annoyance. There was never a quiet, normal morning around here. At least he had last night's success with Eliza to think about. After grabbing a tray and that morning's special of overcooked (yet cold) hash and a pitifully small slice of Canadian bacon, Wierzbowski sat next to Drake, who was lazily poking his oatmeal with his spoon. "You look like you had a bit of a rough night, Drake."

Drake nodded, but didn't go into detail.

_Nightmares on repeat, I guess._ Wierzbowski opened the top of a juice jug, taking a sniff at the contents. "That was certainly not just taken out of the fridge."

"Maybe they accidentally put the fucking juice in the microwave and the fucking hash in the fridge," Spunkmeyer said, with his mouth full. "Mine's colder than a penguin turd."

"How would you know how cold or warm a penguin turd is?" Frost asked.

"I dunno."

"Maybe he thought it was Christmas candy, man," Hudson snorted.

"That'd be you, Hudson," Frost replied. "You'd put rabbit turds in a bowl thinking it was chocolate cereal or Whoppers or something."

"Speaking of cereal, man-" Hudson looked at Hicks.

"No," Hicks said. "We're not putting sugary cereal in the dispensers."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll shove your hand in it and get stuck again, looking for extra marshmallows," Dietrich muttered, not looking up from her tray.

Everyone else at the table laughed.

"I was gonna say, 'because it's not healthy,' but that's a good reason, too," Hicks said, grinning.

A goofball conversation like that was significantly better than arguing, Wierzbowski would admit. Despite its immaturity, it showed that everyone was capable of just having fun, and knew they didn't have to be serious all the time. Hell, even Dietrich got a wisecrack in there, and most of the others saw her as humorless.

After breakfast, Dietrich subtly gestured for Wierzbowski to follow her down to the base's public complex and plaza. All Wierzbowski could do was hope that Dietrich didn't close herself off and tell him that her life was none of his business again.

Most people would've taken the Metro out to the city and go to a café with good coffee, but Dietrich settled on the plaza's "simpler" cafés because no one was there. At least the coffee was leagues better than what they could get in the mess hall.

"Personally, I hope no one thinks this is a date or anything," Wierzbowski said, smiling a little in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I don't think it's a date. Besides, you do have a girlfriend, right?" Dietrich asked, stirring some creamer in her mug.

"Yeah. No one believes me, for some reason. I don't know if it's just a joke, or . . . no one actually believes me. Drake and Hudson have actually met her, so, they believe me. Spunkmeyer and the others just laugh."

"Probably because some of them can't get a real girlfriend of their own."

"That makes sense." Wierzbowski faced Dietrich, looking down at the table before looking her in the eye. "Alright, what was it you wanted to talk to me about last night?"

Dietrich sighed. "I . . . shouldn't have gotten mad at you, at any point, over the last few days. I've been spending a lot of time thinking about . . . you and what you've said, and . . . I shouldn't be throwing you away. I have a hard time making friends. Been that way ever since I was . . . really little." She dropped eye contact, then took a breath and looked Wierzbowski in the eye again. "It wasn't fun . . . being enrolled in programs for kids who . . . just don't know how to grasp emotions, because then everyone knows that there's something wrong or off with you. It was either I feel something strongly, or I don't feel anything at all. I wasn't stupid, I was actually impressively smart with some things-which is one reason I became a medtech-but . . . it didn't substitute the fact that I had a hard time connecting with people on an emotional level. I mean, you've seen me when I work. I can easily shut everything off, and just . . . work. When I want to get something done, I do it. Nothing can distract me. It's . . . both a blessing and a curse, and . . . I hate it . . . so much."

"If it makes you feel better, you are a damn good medic. That level of focus is almost vital when it comes to patching someone up on the field. Definitely something I had a hard time with during first-aid training. I was thinking too much. I kept telling myself that . . . if I mess up, this person's going to die, and it's my fault. You just do what you need to do. You don't think about the next five minutes. Some people think you're cold and unfeeling, and-"

"That's true. I've always been brutally honest with people, that's why. I can't stand lying or just saying something nice for the sake of it. Jesus, I can remember going to this girl's house for a birthday party when I was seven. Someone there stunk, and I told them they stunk. They cried and I was . . . they told everyone in the class not to talk to me because I was mean, and . . . I lived with it. I accepted it."

"Now, you tell Hudson he stinks all the time. He doesn't treat you like crap or tell people not to talk to you."

"No, because he knows he stinks sometimes, and I think he thinks it's funny. This . . . This place is different, though. It's a different group of people. It's not school. Everyone-almost everyone-here is a mature adult with some degree of life experience and their own set of problems they have to deal with. And yet, I still haven't figured out a way to push past this and find a way to connect with you. Most people in this unit have something wrong with them, mentally, and . . . when Hicks tried to find ways for us to be a bit more aware of that, I wanted to quit right then and there, because I don't know how to help. I'm your medic, I'm supposed to be your first stop for help, but I was stupid enough not to take those four weeks and try to learn what to do to help you guys."

"You weren't anticipating this would happen, and that's not your fault." Wierzbowski glanced down at his coffee, and then returned his gaze to Dietrich. "Are you afraid of giving bad advice?"

"I just don't know what to do. I'm definitely afraid of saying the wrong thing and then . . . someone kills themselves over it. That's why I stay out of these things. I don't know you, so how am I supposed to know what to say or do to make you feel better, emotionally?"

"You need someone who'll be patient with you."

Dietrich nodded.

"If . . . you had said that before, I would've understood. You wouldn't have needed to give me your story. All you needed to say was 'be patient with me,' and I can understand if you feel like that's not enough of an explanation. Trust me, I need people to be patient with me, sometimes, and it's hard to find someone willing to be patient with me. Your story's much different from mine, but, in the end, we do understand each other, and . . . you're not alone anymore."

A single tear rolled down Dietrich's cheek. "Thank you, 'Ski." She put a napkin to her face, looking immensely relieved that someone knew the truth.

Wierzbowski went around the table to sit next to Dietrich and put his arm around her. "Not a problem. I'll keep it between us, I promise."

"OK, I trust you." Dietrich set the wet napkin on the table, and grabbed a dry one. She waited until she stopped crying, and took a breath to compose herself. "Alright, are you still interested in getting more first-aid training?"

"Yeah. I don't want to force you to teach me, if you don't want to."

"No, I'll teach you. I want to teach you. If you . . . can help me as well, then, yes, I'll take you as my student."

"I appreciate it, thank you."

"We're not starting today, that's for sure. Give me some time to get stuff ready, and I'll let you know when I can give you a crash course on it, alright?"

"Take all the time you need, and, like I said, I won't say a word to anyone."

* * *

It was difficult to keep this secret from the people Wierzbowski trusted most, namely Drake and Hudson. No matter how tempting it was to tell them, he couldn't. He could not break his newfound trust with Dietrich. _Drake will be extremely pissed, though, if he finds out. We agreed not to keep secrets. Oh, this isn't good. Maybe I should tell him and tell him to keep it between us? What if Dietrich finds out? She'll kill me._

All day, back and forth, Wierzbowski argued with himself. He didn't even want to tell Eliza. _She might tell Miranda, who will absolutely tell Hudson, and Hudson can't keep his mouth shut. No, I should tell Eliza. She won't tell anybody if I tell her not to. It'd really hurt our relationship if I kept secrets from her, and I don't want her to think I'm cheating on her with Dietrich. No, she'll understand when I say it's an apprenticeship. Eliza knows how to listen. Hell, that's why she likes me!_

He settled on just keeping it to himself. It wasn't a damning secret. That is, until someone wonders why he keeps disappearing to sick bay. People _will_ assume he and Dietrich are seeing each other, romantically.

_God, I made a promise, and I have to keep it!_ His thoughts continued to go back and forth during lunch, rendering him unable to eat. Then again, it wasn't like the food in front of him seemed edible in the first place.

"Everything OK?" Hicks asked, looking at Wierzbowski from the corner of his eye.

"Yeah . . . Yeah, everything's alright," Wierzbowski said. "Not all that hungry, that's all."

"Rules are, when you sit down at the chow table, you eat, unless you got a medical document," Apone replied.

"Yes, sir."

It took a little more time, but Wierzbowski finally decided to just keep his friendship with Dietrich to himself. Even though Drake couldn't have any alcohol for a few more days, he, Hudson, and Wierzbowski went out for drinks later.

"Doctor won't know," Drake mumbled. "I'll drink."

"No," Wierzbowski said. "Just listen to what that packet tells you. Besides, Hudson's the only one of us drinking, anyway."

"You don't even want to _try_ something?" Drake asked.

"No. I can't do it."

"What if we go slow, man? Have you taste wine," Hudson chirped.

"I said, no. Don't ask again."

"Fine. More for me, man." Hudson started gulping down the contents of his beer mug.

"You're not gonna get smashed and have us drag you home, are you?" Drake shook his head.

"We'll see, man." Hudson winked. "I'll behave. I promise."

Drake rolled his eyes. "How was your farm date with Eliza last night, Wierzbowski?" he asked.

"Actually, it went really well." Wierzbowski paused, not wanting his two friends to start making jokes if he told them he got his first real kiss.

"Are you capable of initiating more hugs now?"

"Yeah. That's pretty much all we did. We walked up to the old farm, looked at the view from an empty hay loft, and just sat together, snuggling."

"Right to snuggling. Doing good, man." Hudson took another sip of his beer. "When you get to kissing, then you gotta move on to-"

"Sleeping together," Drake finished. "Not sex, but just sleeping together."

"Yeah. Do a sleepover or something, man. Trust me, you'll never move on to sex if she can't stand having you in the same bed as her."

Drake smirked. "I don't think Wierzbowski will have any problems with that. I'm just surprised Miranda puts up with you."

"Why's that?"

"You snore-"

"She's fine with my snoring."

"And when dinner disagrees with you, you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Wierzbowski rubbed his face. "You two are something else."

"Seriously, though, we're glad you and Eliza are doing good together," Drake said, raising his water glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers, man." Hudson finished off his drink. "We're proud."

_I can't tell them about Dietrich, and I can't tell them I got my first real kiss._ Their pride wasn't sinking in. Wierzbowski looked away from them, not wanting them to see the pain of hiding secrets behind his eyes.

* * *

There were ten minutes to lights-out when someone knocked on Wierzbowski's door, saying, "Hey, big fella, mind if I talk to you for a minute, man?"

_What do you want, Hudson?_ Wierzbowski quietly sighed before opening the door, seeing Hudson adjusting his shorts. "Sure, what is it?"

Hudson gestured to go inside the room. "Privately, man." Once the door closed, he turned to face Wierzbowski. "You looked like something was bugging you tonight. Is it . . . anything I can help you with?"

"If you promise to keep it between us, then yes."

Hudson made a slashing motion over his chest. "Cross my heart, man. Shoot."

"The last few days, I've been trying to connect with Dietrich. She . . . doesn't have the easiest time connecting with others, emotionally, and . . . that's pretty much why she doesn't interact with us much. Anyway, I offered to help her with organizing the first-aid kits, and afterwards, I said I enjoyed spending time with her. I really did. She was surprised, and I guess wasn't prepared for that, so she pushed me back out again. After talking, we're friends, and she's going to start training me in first-aid soon."

Hudson smiled. "That's great, man, but . . . why would you keep that a secret?"

"It's kinda what she wanted. Don't ask her, though, she'll kill me." Wierzbowski knew he was skimping on a lot of details regarding Dietrich, but this was better than nothing. "I really don't want to damage my relationship with her, but I don't want to be keeping things from you, because you're a friend as well. I guess I'm more afraid of people assuming Dietrich and I are . . . in a romantic relationship. We're not. I'm very, very happy with Eliza."

"Hey, Dietrich's your teammate as well as mine. You can be close friends without being in a relationship. Hell, I'm glad you got through to Dietrich. I didn't think anyone was ever gonna . . . approach her for something other than medicine. I mean, is she lonely, or does she like being by herself all the time?"

"Both."

"Ah. Well, no one should go through life lonely, man. If you can alleviate that for her, then do it. And-" Hudson make a locking motion with his hand by his mouth, "I won't say a word, man. Promise is a promise."

"Thanks."

"What about Drake? Does he know?"

"If you want to tell him, fine, but that's it. No one else. Certainly not Spunkmeyer."

Hudson's grin faded, and he sighed. "Don't worry about that. Spunkmeyer and I have been having some difficulties of our own."

"What happened?"

"I told Drake that . . . a couple years ago, Spunkmeyer and I used to be the best of friends, and after I had a bit of a breakdown, we kinda stopped being that close of friends. I thought that I couldn't help Hicks, so why would I be able to help Spunkmeyer? Drake offered to help me rekindle that friendship, and when I tried talking to Spunkmeyer about it, he . . . blew up. He accused me of abandoning him, and now I feel awful."

"Sounds like you two need to talk a little bit more," Wierzbowski said, patting Hudson's shoulder. "Not now, obviously, but soon. I can remember when you and Spunkmeyer were close. He was a skittish little thing when he came here, and you helped him become part of the crew."

Hudson nodded. "You're right. I'll try, man, honest. Just . . . lots of things happening that reminded me of it, and I wish I fixed this sooner." He stood up. "Gonna go to bed before Hicks yells at me. Good night, man."

* * *

It seemed like a coincidence, given last night's conversation, that Wierzbowski was working with Spunkmeyer in the base's loading bay and hangar the next morning to move stuff off the delivery trucks that came in not that long ago.

Spunkmeyer was sitting on a large crate. "Come on, 'Ski, get the lead out! We gotta get this shit outta here so the boys can keep up the deliveries!"

Adjusting his cap, Wierzbowski walked up to Spunkmeyer, sighing. "You know, I can easily pick you up and wrap your spine around the legs of your powerloader. Don't rush me. Breakfast was . . . weirdly heavy this morning."

"Ah, so you kinda feel like you actually got lead in your stomach. So do I." Spunkmeyer got off the crate. "We got less than an hour to move these crates onto the motor trolley over there. It's just powdered food and linens and stuff like that. Move what you can. I'll take care of the rest with the powerloader. Try to push everything in a spot where I can get it. Easy as taking a piss."

"OK."

The two climbed into the back of one of the trucks. Spunkmeyer took a sniff, and gave a sad sigh. "Yep. This is the food truck."

"Smells awful, doesn't it?" the driver said, grinning.

"When're they gonna send pizza and wings here?"

"They've sent pizza before . . . but nobody likes it."

"Oh, yeah . . . I remember that night." Spunkmeyer shook his head. "Hudson was so sad, I almost felt bad for him. He only knows how to eat pizza, though. He has no fucking clue how to make it the right way. Listen, I remember this place on South Seaport that makes the best pizza you've ever tasted. You'll never forget it once you have it. Aw, I need to figure out a way to get them to ship a couple dozen boxes down here. You guys'll love it. Anyways, I went down there by myself so often that if the Marines didn't work out, I'd be working there right now. They actually almost gave me their recipe-I'll get it next time I visit New York. Where was I . . . oh, yeah, it's thin, but the crust is real thick so you can easily pick it up and fold it without getting all the grease on your hands. You can bite right through the cheese so you don't pull the whole layer off. They have such good specialty pizzas, too. I should order one of each for yous . . ."

Even while up in the powerloader, Spunkmeyer kept talking and talking about the best food in New York. Wierzbowski was only glad Hudson wasn't there, because he'd be drooling all over and creating a "wet floor" hazard. At one point, Wierzbowski glanced over to see Dietrich entering the loading bay, gesturing for him to come with her. He looked up at Spunkmeyer, who was going on about Chinese takeout. "Spunkmeyer, I'd really hate to interrupt your story, but, I've got to go."

"OK. I got the rest of this stuff anyway. Wait-where're you going?" Spunkmeyer tried to look at Wierzbowski through the bars of the loader's frame.

"I've got . . . an appointment."

* * *

_Question: Despite having somewhat similar personalities, how might Dietrich and Wierzbowski have difficulties in a teacher-student relationship?_

_Author's Note: Spunkmeyer and Hudson are both really talkative, but Spunkmeyer needs to have the right buttons pushed while Hudson just never shuts up and talks about everything and anything that springs to mind . . . even if Apone has told him more than once not to talk about it at the breakfast table._


	5. Chapter 5

Dietrich walked with Wierzbowski down to one of the classrooms in the heart of sick bay. It felt strange to be in a place the average Marine normally didn't see. In a way, it was a little exhilarating.

The room had no windows. Just one door to get in and out. The walls were covered in medical posters and diagrams, and in the furthest corner was a large closet full of practice supplies. Dietrich unlocked the closet, saying, "You passed your CPR recertification back in September, right?"

"Yeah," Wierzbowski replied. "Not that difficult."

"No, but someone of your size and strength might accidentally break some ribs if you were performing CPR on a live person, if you're not careful, which brings me to part of our first lesson; remaining calm in the event of an emergency, especially where you are literally the only person around who has to capability to save someone's life. Remember last month, when we were in Romania? I was the only person taking care of Hicks when he got shot. You think that's easy to do?"

"No."

"Exactly. It's not easy, but it's important to learn how to stay calm. For me, it comes somewhat naturally. For others, it requires a little bit of training and desensitization. Being able to temporarily shut off your emotions is key. If you can't stand looking at blood and gore, don't bother with this." Dietrich set a kit on one of the desks. "Think you can do this? I was observing you when I was fixing Drake's stitch; you looked like your stomach was turning."

"I can do this."

Dietrich nodded, but she also looked unsure. "We'll see. Just remember, anyone can tell you that staying calm in an emergency is vital, but it doesn't do anything until you're actually faced with that situation."

"I understand."

The next hour was spent re-evaluating Wierzbowski on CPR and different maneuvers to help someone who's choking. Dietrich pulled a practice dummy out of the closet, and set it on the floor. "Medtechs' first-aid standards are a lot higher than everyone else's. One point off is an automatic failure. No excuses. The head must be out of the ass, got it?"

"Got it." Wierzbowski knelt by the dummy.

"OK. Now, CPR is not just putting both hands on someone's chest and pushing. It's massaging the heart back into beating. When you're pushing, you have to dig the heel of your hand into the sternum. Get on your knees, get your shoulders right above your hands . . . Give me a couple practice pushes. Little bit harder, 'Ski. Harder . . . Harder . . . Dammit, 'Ski, press harder when I tell you to!"

"You just told me that I might kill someone if I push too hard!"

"You're gonna kill someone if you press too hard or too gentle! I'll let you know when you're pressing too hard." Dietrich gave an exasperated sigh as she continued to watch. "Harder. Stop holding back. This person's going to die if you don't do something."

"I am doing something!"

"No, you're not. You're just sitting there, pushing their chest. Dig the fucking heel of your hand in and push harder when I tell you to! Stop acting afraid. That's the one thing you shouldn't be in this situation."

Wierzbowski stopped, but continued to hang over the chest of the dummy.

"Now what are you doing? You're quitting. You can't quit when you're on the field."

"I'm not quitting."

"Then what the fuck are you doing?!"

Wierzbowski wasn't sure, but he didn't know how to say that without Dietrich flying off the handle again.

Much to his surprise, though, Dietrich let out her breath, and looked at him. "This isn't that difficult, 'Ski. The first thing you learn upon enlistment is that you listen to the people above you, without question or hesitation. That's what I need you to do here."

"Right. I'm sorry." Wierzbowski put his hands back in position over the dummy's chest.

"OK. Like I said before, dig the heel of your hand into the sternum . . . That's it. Much better. Quicker. Fast, even compressions. Just like that. Keep going." Dietrich looked at her watch. "Alright, that's enough. We'll keep working on this another day."

As things wrapped up for that day's lesson, Dietrich didn't say a word as she put their supplies away, and that had Wierzbowski nervous. "Are you mad?" he asked.

Dietrich glanced at him. "You still need a little work with CPR. I'm not mad. I'll . . . I'll do the best I can to help you get it right."

Wierzbowski paused before going to the door. "Are you . . . Is something . . . Is everything OK?"

"Yes. Everything's OK, 'Ski. Go back to your regular duties."

* * *

Wierzbowski went back out to the loading bay, seeing Spunkmeyer had already put every crate in the right place, and the delivery trucks were gone. Spunkmeyer was gone, too. Going back inside, Wierzbowski found everyone was in the gym, doing their daily workouts. Hudson was upside-down, doing curl-ups, while some of the others watched. _I really hope he doesn't fall, _Wierzbowski thought, shaking his head.

Drake wasn't in the gym, likely because he wasn't supposed to be doing strenuous exercise until a doctor gave him the go-ahead. Wierzbowski ended up finding him in the pool, wearing that same waterproof brace over his bandage that had sent him into a panic attack several nights ago. No one else was in the massive, humid chamber, and Wierzbowski felt that Drake liked it that way.

"Are you supposed to be in here?" Wierzbowski asked.

"No one said I couldn't," Drake replied. "Do you need something?"

"Just wondering where you were, that's all."

"Yeah. I can't be in the gym, but I was told I can sit in the pool if I want to. Actually very relaxing, just kinda sitting and floating . . . feels nice."

"You actually look somewhat better."

"I _feel_ somewhat better, honestly." Drake half-floated onto his back. "Try it."

"Maybe another day." Wierzbowski grabbed a chair. _Now isn't a good time to tell him about Dietrich. I wish I could. I just want someone's advice on how to be less afraid and more willing to listen. I don't know why I can't even do that!_

Drake held his breath before disappearing underwater. Wierzbowski watched him swim out to the deep end without coming up once for air, then his head came up at the edge of the deepest part of the pool. He then floated back over to where Wierzbowski was sitting. "You look like you wanna say something," Drake said.

Wierzbowski bit his lip. "My mind's all over the place. I'm sorry."

"You might wanna do your thinking somewhere else," Drake replied. "The heat and humidity won't help, I've noticed."

"Honest question, Drake . . . when . . . when do I ask Eliza to have a date at her place?" Wierzbowski tried to take his mind off Dietrich.

"She has to invite you over. If you had a place of your own, you invite her over whenever you feel comfortable, but you can't bring your girlfriend on base, not unless she becomes your wife."

"I know." Wierzbowski sighed. "We didn't arrange anything last time, but . . . I want to see her again."

"Call her." Drake paused, and thought for a moment. "You know what? Go to her apartment and surprise her. She seems like the type of person that'll like that." He offered Wierzbowski a slight grin. "It'll impress her. Do it."

* * *

After getting a pass from Apone, Wierzbowski headed out into the city. He stared down at the tiny slip of paper Eliza had given him with her address on it, heart pounding as he thought about what might happen when he got there. _I hope Drake's right, and this is something Eliza will actually like. I really don't want to turn into a bother._

More and more people crowded onto the Metro as the evening rush hour progressed. Sweat started running down Wierzbowski's face as he grew more nervous; the heat and lack of air circulation definitely didn't help. He became dizzy after standing up to give his seat to an elderly man.

Even after getting off the train and heading aboveground, to fresher air, a dull ache continued to throb in his head. He walked into a flower and gift shop, despite being unsure of what kind of flowers Eliza would like. A middle-aged woman behind the counter said, "Need some help, sir?"

"Not . . . really sure, yet," Wierzbowski replied, softly. "I'm just looking for something small for my girlfriend."

"Alright. Holler if you need anything."

Nodding, Wierzbowski turned back to the assortment of flowers in front of him. _She always shows up wearing bright, warm colors. Should probably get a bouquet with bright and warm colors in it. _He gently picked up a small bouquet of red, yellow, and orange flowers, and a box of chocolates with raspberry filling, and headed up to the counter.

"That'll be all?" the cashier asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Wierzbowski said.

"You OK? You look and sound a little sad."

"I'm OK."

"We've got a selection of wine here. Maybe you'd like to take a bottle."

Wierzbowski suddenly felt like he had been punched in the stomach. _Not her fault. She doesn't know._ "No, thank you." He left the shop after paying, making his way down a few blocks before coming to a street of apartment buildings of varying heights and styles. As he went inside one of them and into the elevator, he felt a tiny knot start to tighten hard in the pit of his stomach. _I'm not a burden. If she tells me to leave, I'll leave, no arguments._

At the seventh floor, Wierzbowski got off the elevator, heading down the hallway before coming to Eliza's apartment number. He took a deep breath before knocking, and a cat meowing in response. Someone jogged up to the door, and he heard Eliza say, "Who is it?"

"It's 'Ski."

The door was unlocked, and Eliza opened it. A big smile was on her face. "Wasn't expecting to see you tonight. What brings you-aww, you brought flowers?"

Shyly, Wierzbowski nodded.

Eliza took a moment to study his face. "You . . . don't look so good. Come on in and sit. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry. I . . . I wasn't planning on coming earlier, but someone suggested that . . . it'd impress you if I surprised you by stopping by. I was really afraid I-I'd be intruding."

"Does it make you feel better that you're not intruding, and that I'm very happy to see you?"

"A little, yeah."

"Believe me, I don't have company over. At least, not very often, and I don't do anything much around this time. Just making dinner. Are you hungry? I'll fix a plate for you."

"If you're offering."

Eliza unwrapped the flowers and placed them in a large vase before going behind the kitchen counter. "Anything you'd like to drink? I made lemonade. Non-alcoholic."

"Sure." Wierzbowski looked at the floor, and then back over at Eliza. "Can I tell you something, and can you promise not to say anything to anyone else?"

"Of course. What's up?"

"Yesterday, Dietrich-our unit's medtech-opened up to me about why she can be a bit harsh at times. I won't go into detail about that, but afterwards, she offered to give me some extra first-aid training. She told me not to tell anyone, but . . . I'm scared that people will pick up on the fact that I'm now going to sick bay every single day to see her. I'm afraid people will start thinking that I'm in a romantic relationship with her. They already . . . don't believe you exist. I can't imagine what'll happen if someone assumes that I'm in love with Dietrich. I was also afraid of what you'd think about all this."

"I don't see it in you to cheat, 'Ski. I'm not scared in the slightest."

"Thanks. That . . . makes me feel a little better. I-I've already told Hudson about what's going on, and . . . even though he can be a bit of a pain sometimes, he is trustworthy. Only person I really haven't told is Drake. He and Dietrich really don't get along, and I'd hate for him to think I'm abandoning his friendship to be with someone he's not too fond of."

"All the more reason to tell him," Eliza replied. "It'd be worse if he found out, and you said nothing. You do trust him, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Tell him. I think he'll understand and let you live your own life." Eliza took a tall glass out of the cupboard, and filled it with ice. "Anything else on your mind?"

"Yeah." Wierzbowski thought back to that morning, when Dietrich was getting worked up over him not performing CPR properly. "Dietrich is . . . a little difficult to work with, and I'm . . . I'm me. I tend to hold back on a lot of things, and I shouldn't be. I'm the one that wanted the training in the first place, and yet I can't seem to throw myself into it. She knows it, she can sense it, but she has no clue how to work with someone like me. She has no clue how to work with anyone, period."

"Have you tried just talking to her as a friend?"

"Before the training, yeah. It's almost like . . . she's forgotten about that."

"Look, I don't know this person, but if she's treating you like garbage and not learning from any of her mistakes, no matter how many times you point them out, I don't think you should train under her." Eliza shrugged. "That's just me. You're too nice of a person to go through this, 'Ski."

"Well, thanks. I . . . I appreciate that." A part of Wierzbowski wanted to give Eliza a hug, but he figured that could wait until after dinner.

It wasn't difficult to see why Eliza didn't entertain much; the table was pretty small, with enough room for two people. "Take as much as you want," Eliza said. "Just leave the serving stuff on the counter." She made a simple chicken alfredo pasta dish, but despite its simplicity, it looked and smelled better than anything served in the mess hall back on base.

"I honestly can't remember the last time I had any sort of home cooking," Wierzbowski said.

"This isn't anything special."

"Well, it is to me now. Thank you."

Eliza blushed. "You're welcome, sweetie."

"Usually, if we got this on base, the sauce would be very runny, the chicken would be dry, and Hudson or Drake would be bitching about the whole-wheat pasta."

"Whole-wheat pasta isn't anything spectacular, though. I can't blame them."

"You'd think they'd be used to it by now. But, no, if there's nothing else to complain about, all they talk about is food-well, mostly Hudson. We joke about how he thinks half with his brain and half with his stomach. Drake is a bit of a picky eater and yet gets incredibly cranky when he's hungry." Wierzbowski's thoughts turned to that morning, when he was helping Spunkmeyer in the loading bay. "Oh, and I have to warn you, if you ever meet Spunkmeyer, don't talk to him about food, especially pizza. He's a full-blooded New Yorker, complete with the accent, and will go on and on and on about every single restaurant and café and diner he's been to in Manhattan. He won't shut up if you get him going."

"Is he at least a nice guy, though?"

"He is, but he's a bit nuts. I've heard him talking to his powerloader once or twice. Oh, yeah, don't talk to him about his powerloader, either. Again, he'll just keep talking and talking, long after you stopped listening."

"It sounds like you have a very entertaining group of people to work with."

"I have to live with them, not just work. You learn a lot about yourself and other people when you're around them for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It's an . . . interesting experience, to say the least."

The cat was perched on a shelf while watching Eliza clean up after dinner. He glanced toward the window as the sky slowly went from a pale blue to a pale pink, then orange, and then dropped from the shelf to go to his water dish. Wierzbowski pondered what to do next. He looked at the flowers, then back at Eliza. "Was there . . . anything you'd like to do?"

"I did tell you I don't do much in the evening, not unless I have plans," Eliza replied.

"Would you find it weird if all I want to do is sit with you?"

"No. That's not weird at all." Eliza grinned. "Why do you think it's weird?"

"I don't know. It feels silly to ask."

"It's not silly. Go sit, I'll be right with you." As the outside continued to darken, Eliza turned on all the lights in the apartment. She sat next to Wierzbowski, snuggling close to him. "This is what you really wanted to ask for, right?" she whispered.

"What?"

"You wanted to hug and snuggle, like we did in the barn. It's just us, you don't need to be afraid to say that."

"How did you know?"

Eliza gave a somewhat mischievous smile. "I can read you." She rested her head on Wierzbowski's shoulder.

_Oh, what the hell._ Wierzbowski hugged Eliza tight, kissing her cheek. They bumped noses and foreheads before kissing, much like they did in the hay loft a few nights ago.

_This won't get old. Ever._ Being in that moment with Eliza was the best feeling in the world. It was joyous, it was light, it was by all means perfect. It was the opposite of loneliness and hopelessness. His insecurities and lack of confidence were put to the side for now.

If only it could last longer. Or at least didn't fly by so quickly.

The light and happiness were swiftly shoved out when Wierzbowski returned to reality upon looking at his watch, which had been adjusted to show the correct time now, and it was getting close to curfew. "I have to get going," he said. "I'm sorry."

Eliza moved to let Wierzbowski stand, and then stood up with him. "Should we make plans for another night?"

Without hesitation, Wierzbowski nodded. "Yeah."

Eliza thought for a moment. "Come back to my place Wednesday night. I'll find something we can do."

"Alright, I trust you." Wierzbowski turned toward the door, then turned back to Eliza, opening his arms. Eliza jumped in, and he lifted her up so she could kiss him. "Good night, and . . . I love you."

"I love you, too," Eliza said. "I'll see you in a few nights."

A pang of loneliness suddenly pierced Wierzbowski's heart after setting Eliza down and leaving the apartment. The pain slowly got worse as Wierzbowski headed back to base, and his chest felt heavy. When he returned, he heard Hudson and Drake talking and laughing in Drake's bedroom. Part of him wanted to join them, but he didn't think they wanted his sadness tainting whatever conversation they were having.

* * *

_Question: How should Wierzbowski go about telling Drake about Dietrich?_


	6. Chapter 6

"Fuck it. I'm drinking."

Wierzbowski watched Drake get up with an exasperated sigh and walk over to the bar. He glanced at Hudson, who shrugged. The three of them decided to go out instead of suffering through whatever crap was going to be served with dinner.

"It's been, what, a week, man?" Hudson asked. "I think he's good. Doctor ain't gonna know."

"If Dietrich found out, she'd be pissed," Wierzbowski replied.

Hudson looked in Drake's direction, observing the smartgunner gulping down a good-sized mug of beer. "How've you been doing with Dietrich teaching you, anyways?"

"I've only had one lesson. She hasn't called me back down in a few days. I guess she just needs time to put stuff together and . . . mentally process it."

Hudson nodded. "Is she a good teacher?"

"You need to be patient with her, and she needs to be patient with you. All I can say is . . . well, it was a rough start."

"Like a relationship?"

Wierzbowski shook his head. "Let's not refer it to that."

"Got it, man. Speaking of that, how've you been doing with Eliza?"

"Good. Fantastic, actually. I love her."

Hudson grinned. "You got to the 'I love yous.' I'm proud of you, man." He clapped Wierzbowski on the shoulder. "Hey, maybe we can all do another triple date sometime, man. You and Eliza, me and Miranda, Drake tries to convince Vasquez to come. It'd be fun, man."

"Let me think about it. I've been enjoying the quiet and more intimate dates that Eliza and I have."

"OK, well, if you decide you wanna join me and Miranda one night, go right ahead, man." Hudson looked over at Drake. "Should I go talk to him before he gets loopy and crazy?"

"If you want," Wierzbowski replied. "Just don't start drinking with him."

"I won't, man, promise." Hudson stood up, snapping his fingers as he headed up to the bar. He then turned around, giving Wierzbowski a sad look. "You gonna be OK, man? I know you don't drink anymore, and . . . I don't want you feeling left out." He put his hands in his pockets. "Maybe we should just go home. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea anyway."

"Well, if we're gonna leave, go get Drake before he decides to have more than he can handle."

"Got it." Hudson walked over to the bar, tapping Drake on the shoulder and whispering to him. At least Drake was still somewhat sober; he followed Hudson, though he wasn't walking all that straight. Eventually, Hudson got behind him, guiding him as they headed back to base.

When they returned, Hudson took Drake to his room, and Wierzbowski decided to look for Dietrich. She wasn't in sick bay, so he went back to the living quarters and knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" Dietrich called.

"It's 'Ski," Wierzbowski replied. "Can I ask you something?"

With a heavy sigh, Dietrich opened the door. "What?"

"I was . . . just wondering . . . when our next lesson is?"

Dietrich thought for a moment. "Tomorrow. After breakfast."

"Right. Thanks."

Instead of slamming the door, Dietrich leaned against the doorway, looking up at Wierzbowski. "Would you . . . like to borrow some old textbooks? Just remember to bring them back, and don't damage them."

"I'll take care of them. Thank you . . . Wasn't expecting that, but it's greatly appreciated."

"I trust you. Well, _starting_ to trust you. It's enough to make me feel like you can look after my stuff. I've had these since training. They weren't issued to us, but I bought them anyway." Dietrich opened her nightstand, taking out a well-worn textbook. She paused, noticing the many sticky notes she had put inside. "Give me one minute, 'Ski." She opened the book, pulling out the sticky notes. "Don't need you seeing my shit."

"It's just notes, isn't it?" Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest. "It'd be interesting to see how your train of thought works."

"No, it wouldn't. You wouldn't understand a word. You'd think I'm insane."

"Fine. If you want to keep them private, that's completely up to you."

Dietrich sighed as she continued pulling out the notes. "If you thought you'd find some big medical breakthrough, you're wrong. A lot of this was . . . nothing. Just random thoughts and musings about any little thing I found interesting." When she finished removing her sticky notes, she handed the book over to Wierzbowski. "I want it in the exact same condition I'm giving to you now."

"Don't worry about that. Thank you." Wierzbowski offered her a small smile. "Have a good night, Dietrich."

"You . . . have a good night, too, 'Ski."

* * *

When he realized he fell asleep with the textbook on his chest, Wierzbowski figured that was why his dreams were odd last night. _I don't think I'll ever get to a point where I'll be operating on my teammates. I don't think I could. _He put the book on his nightstand before getting out of bed, hearing Hicks knocking on everyone's doors.

"You had five more minutes five minutes ago, Hudson! Get up, get dressed, don't let me see you with your shirt untucked again!" Hicks yelled.

After breakfast, Wierzbowski waited for everyone to go off on their own before heading to sick bay. Dietrich was already waiting in the classroom, holding several rolls of bandages. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yeah," Wierzbowski replied.

"You gonna pay attention and actually do what I tell you?"

He nodded.

"OK. Get on the floor." Dietrich dragged over a rubber dummy. "Today, we're gonna talk about bleeding, and what to do about it. Do you know the difference between venous and arterial bleeding?"

"Arteries spray when cut. Veins are slower."

"Basic idea, yeah. Either way, you need to stop blood loss as soon as possible. Don't be all loosey-goosey with the bandages; you wrap that thing around the wound as tight as you can to stop the bleeding, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Alright." Dietrich handed Wierzbowski the bandage rolls, and some tape. "Pretend this guy has a big gash on his right arm, just below the crook of his elbow. Wrap it."

Wierzbowski could faintly remember having bandages wrapped tightly on him whenever he was wounded in combat. He pulled the bandage tight with each loop around the dummy's arm.

"I should not be able to easily stick my finger under the bandage when you're done," Dietrich said.

"Got it." Wierzbowski continued wrapping until there was a tight, thick layer of bandages on the dummy's arm, and secured it with the tape.

Dietrich knelt by him, inspecting his work. She nodded, and turned to him. "Nice. Very nice, actually. I'm impressed." She gave him a small smile, which gave Wierzbowski the impression they were both on the right track.

* * *

Dietrich promised another lesson for the next day. After leaving sick bay, Wierzbowski joined the rest of the unit in the gym. The whole room was humid, stuffy, and smelled rancid. Wierzbowski walked in, reluctantly, finding Drake watching Hudson do pull-ups. Drake wasn't even doing anything, and he was sweating profusely.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be in here," Wierzbowski said.

"I'm probably going to leave soon anyways," Drake replied. "I can be in here, I just can't exercise."

"It's hot in here, man," Hudson grunted.

"We know."

Hudson nearly slipped down from the bar, hands slick with sweat. "Can't do this anymore, man." He started removing his shirt.

"What are you doing? You're not supposed to-Hudson, why are you taking your boots off?"

"I'm burning up in here, man!" Hudson kicked his boots off, and then took off his belt. "Pants are coming down!"

"No!" Drake headed for the door. "Save yourselves!"

Spunkmeyer raised an eyebrow. "What just happened-_Aw, God! Hudson, no! Put your pants back on!_"

"Seriously, you're gonna get us all in trouble, dude!" Frost yelled.

"Like I said, save yourselves!" Drake called, running out of the gym, just as Dietrich was walking in.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Dietrich asked. "Hudson, that's disgusting! Put your clothes back on!"

"I was roasting in my trousers, man!" Hudson whined.

"I imagine you're roasting under all that hair!" Ferro yelled, covering Spunkmeyer's eyes. "Protect the children!"

As people continued to yell at Hudson, the doors flew open, and Apone stormed in. "Alright, what's with all the-oh, for the love of God, Hudson!"

"At least the skivvies stayed on," Hicks moaned, rubbing his face. "Remember when they didn't?"

"Let's not go back to that. Ever."

"July of 2174. The screams of terror will forever haunt our dreams."

Apone glared at Hudson. "Well? You gonna put your Goddamn uniform back on or what? You're outta regs and you know that."

"I was hot, Sarge," Hudson said.

"I'm gonna show you 'hot' when you get your uniform on. Move it!"

Wierzbowski watched Hudson do several sets of pushups while Apone berated him. Sweat was forming puddles on the floor beneath Hudson's head, and he was shaking. Dietrich silently came up behind Wierzbowski, holding a small kit. "When Apone's done, I'm gonna show you how to check and treat heat exhaustion. Afterwards, take Hudson down to the pool."

Apone stood up, looking down at Hudson. "I could've worked you till you had to be dragged to sick bay. Don't let me catch you stripping somewhere you're not supposed to be stripping again."

Dietrich knelt by Hudson. "Get on his other side, 'Ski. Check his pulse; is it fast yet shallow?"

"It's fast, but not shallow," Wierzbowski replied.

"Good." Dietrich grimaced. "And he's not dry and clammy. He's wet and gross." She sighed as she opened an electrolyte drink. "Now, if he showed any of those symptoms, we'd have to carry him down to sick bay. That's the basics of it." She watched Hudson gulp down the drink. "Can you get it in your mouth and not on your shirt?"

Hudson didn't respond.

"Alright, 'Ski, take him to the pool. Make sure he has his water wings."

Hudson pulled the drink away from his lips. "I don't need water wings, man."

"It was a joke, moron."

Wierzbowski helped Hudson stand, and walked alongside him into the hallway. "I know we're friends, but I do wonder just how many functioning brain cells you have today. You're smarter than that."

"Well, it livened the gym up for once, man," Hudson replied. He went into his room to grab his swim bag, and followed Wierzbowski down to the pool locker rooms. "You coming in, too?"

"No. I'm just watching you because Dietrich told me to." Wierzbowski went into the main entrance of the pool, a small room containing the chamber's PA system. He looked out the window to see Drake was already in the water, looking relaxed and content. _Oh, he's going to have a very rude interruption, poor guy._

Five minutes later, Wierzbowski saw Drake look in the direction of the men's locker room. "No!"

"Hey, man!" Hudson ran and jumped into the pool.

"We do _not_ need your hair in the pool! I came here to relax!"

"Dietrich told me to come here after Apone punished me with pushups, man."

Drake gave an annoyed sigh before disappearing underwater.

"We really need some pool toys in here, man," Hudson said, to no one in particular. "Hey, Drake? Where'd you go, man?" He waded closer to the deeper parts of the pool. "Drake?"

Wierzbowski noticed a shape moving behind Hudson in the water. He put his hand near the button to activate the PA system, but decided against it. He grinned. _Let Drake have his fun._

Hudson was still looking around, expecting Drake to reappear at the other end of the pool. "Huh, I didn't think Drake was so good at holding his breath, man."

A second passed before Hudson was grabbed and dragged underwater. He gave a bloodcurdling scream before disappearing, bubbles popping up where he once stood. A few seconds later, he resurfaced, gasping for breath and shaking from fright. Drake surfaced in front of him, grinning.

"What was that for, man?!" Hudson cried. When he got response, other than a laugh, he slapped Drake across the face. "Shame on you."

"Hey, only Vasquez is allowed to do that." Drake flicked water at Hudson.

"I almost peed, man!"

"Well, you didn't."

Hudson continued to pout. "Wasn't funny at all, man."

"I thought it was funny. You screamed like a little girl."

Wierzbowski finally pressed the button for the PA system. "Only reason I thought it was funny was because Hudson had no idea you were behind him."

Drake looked in the direction of the small office. "When did you get here?"

"I escorted Hudson down. Dietrich told me to watch him."

"You can go now, man . . . if you want," Hudson said. "We'll play nice." He gave Drake a hug, and was pushed away.

"Once again, you two are something else." Wierzbowski took his finger off the PA button, and turned around when he heard someone walk into the room.

"What's going on in here?" Hicks asked. "You people think this is a community pool or kiddie pool or something?"

"Sir, Dietrich-"

"I don't care what Dietrich said. I really don't. This is an exercise pool. That means no playing, not unless Apone or I authorize it." Hicks gave Wierzbowski a dirty before stepping into the chamber. "Both of you, get out, right now! Go dry off, put your fucking clothes on, neither of you are leaving base the rest of the day!"

Drake and Hudson made a mad-dash for the locker room. Hicks followed them, making sure they weren't goofing off.

Wierzbowski left the pool, not wanting to catch Hicks's wrath. _Something must be bothering him. God, it's like Corporal Henley all over again._

He didn't want to think too much about his former corporal. Like Hicks, Henley was fully competent and a good Marine. Unlike Hicks, he didn't pay that much attention to anyone's personal lives, not unless it was serious, like someone thinking about hurting themselves. No one got away with goofing around Henley like they can with Hicks.

Without a doubt, something had pissed off Hicks. Wierzbowski held his breath as he watched Hicks storm into sick bay. _He's going to yell at Dietrich. _Confronting someone of a higher rank was something Wierzbowski was seriously uncomfortable doing. It'd get him in trouble. All the years spent trying to prove he was hardworking and loyal would be flushed down the drain. Being seen as a problem of any kind was the last thing he wanted.

So he held back. He cared for Dietrich, and didn't want to see her get yelled at for something petty, something that shouldn't have bothered Hicks in the first place, but he didn't want Hicks angry with him next.

* * *

Drake sat on the edge of Wierzbowski's bed, looking lost in thought. "I hope everything's OK with Hicks," he said. "Hell, he was the one who told me I could use the pool because the doctors haven't told me I can do strenuous exercise yet."

"How's he been doing with his girlfriend?" Wierzbowski asked. "I thought they straightened things out a bit."

"I thought so, too, because I was there when they talked. They've met a couple times, alone, so, I don't know what's actually going on between them." Drake sighed. "I hate seeing Hicks suffer like this."

"I feel the same with you."

"Well, gee, thanks." Drake looked down at his lap. "Spunkmeyer heard that Hicks kinda ripped into Dietrich about telling you to take Hudson to the pool to cool down after his punishment. Look, this is really, really petty, to be honest. I think there's something going on."

"Maybe it's not Carlisle, but something about his old mentor."

"Good thinking." Drake got off the bed. "I'll see what I can find, and talk to you in the morning. Have a good night."

A short time passed before Wierzbowski worked up the courage to go down to Dietrich's room and talk to her. He took a breath before knocking on the door. "Dietrich, can I talk to you for a moment?"

There was silence, and then Dietrich opened the door, half-covering her face with one of her T-shirts. "What?"

"I . . . I heard Hicks was a bit rough on you, earlier, and . . . I wanted to know if . . . you were OK."

Dietrich squeezed her eyes shut, tears dripping down her cheeks. She gestured for Wierzbowski to come inside, and tried to dry her face with the shirt. "I know I didn't do anything wrong," she sobbed. "I don't know how to explain this!"

_That's OK. I don't know how to explain why I didn't make an attempt to stick up for you. _Without a word, Wierzbowski gently took Dietrich into a hug, letting her continue to sob in his shirt. Much to his surprise, she hugged him back, tightly. "You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," Wierzbowski said, softly.

Dietrich's crying gradually subsided, but she didn't let go of him. When she did, she looked up at him, eyes red and puffy.

Wiping away her tears with his thumb, Wierzbowski tried to compose his thoughts into words. "I completely understand not being able to explain what it is I'm feeling. I've gotten better at it, but . . . I'm still not the best."

"Do you think you could show me?"

"Show you what?"

"How to . . . communicate my thoughts better?"

Wierzbowski shrugged. "I could give it a shot. I mean, I guess it's fair. You're showing me basic first-aid. I suppose I could help you try to communicate your thoughts better."

"I'd greatly appreciate it. Thank you."

"No problem. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"Nothing I can think of, but . . . I can't thank you enough, 'Ski."

A delicate light feeling had enveloped the center of Wierzbowski's chest. "Don't worry about it. What you're doing for me is plenty. It . . . makes me feel like . . . I have a bit more of a purpose here, like I'm accomplishing something for once." He turned to leave the room, then looked over his shoulder. "Good night, Dietrich."

* * *

_Question: Do Drake and Dietrich share any similarities, personality-wise?_


	7. Chapter 7

Dietrich was huddled in a corner of the medical storage room, legs crossed, a book in hand, when Wierzbowski found her the next morning. She looked up at him. "What?"

"I thought . . . we were doing lessons every morning," Wierzbowski replied.

"No, not every morning. Not this morning."

"OK." Wierzbowski glanced around, noticing how dark the room was. "Don't you want the lights on?"

"No."

After another minute of silence, Wierzbowski sat down, in front of Dietrich. "Are you feeling better, regarding yesterday?"

"No. I'm not crying about it, but I certainly don't feel better. Look-" Dietrich put her bookmark in her novel before closing it and making eye contact with Wierzbowski, "this is why I don't feel like dealing with other people's mental problems. With a physical problem, I can figure out what it is and easily fix it. With . . . whatever the fuck Hicks is dealing with right now . . . I can't just figure it out. It means talking to him, and I have no clue if he's going to be cooperative enough for me to figure his shit out."

"You did say you wanted my help with things like this, last night, right?"

Dietrich nodded.

"OK, well . . ." _I'm just as lost as she is when it comes to teaching somebody. _"I'll . . . Honestly, I don't know how. I'm sorry. It's one of those things you learn through experience. I-I'm not ignoring this, believe me-"

"No, I get it. It's OK, 'Ski." Dietrich sighed, glancing down at her book. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"Whatever looked remotely edible, which wasn't much. Frankly, I've never been one to complain. I didn't eat breakfast until after I quit drinking. I'd always be so hungover in the morning that nothing would stay down. But, yeah, I ate what I could this morning."

"Did you . . . want to get some coffee?"

"I guess." Wierzbowski was a little surprised Dietrich was offering. It seemed like she was unlocking some of her gates, just for him, though. "It . . . would be nice to talk as friends rather than . . . teacher and student."

Dietrich nodded, not replying. She stood up, clutching her book. "Let me go put this back, and then we'll head out."

Wierzbowski followed her back down to the living quarters. As soon as she disappeared into her room, Hudson came down the hall, saying, "Hey, Wierzbowski, I gotta talk to you for a minute, man."

Looking into Dietrich's room, Wierzbowski said, "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead, even though nothing Hudson says is important anyway," Dietrich sighed.

Hudson glanced into the room, and folded his arms over his chest. "It's about Hicks. I'd think Hicks is as important to you as he is to the rest of us."

Dietrich turned to face him. "You're the most arrogant and worthless piece of flesh I've ever had to work with, Hudson."

"That wasn't necessary," Wierzbowski said. "At no point in time was that ever necessary."

"He just walked right in and assumed I don't care-"

"You assumed what he said wasn't important! Didn't even stop to think about what he's talking about." Wierzbowski, though uncomfortable doing so, gave Dietrich a hard look. "Consider this lesson one in learning how to better communicate with people."

Dietrich took hold of her door. "You know what? I don't want to go for coffee with you." She slammed the door shut.

Hudson glanced at Wierzbowski, shrugging. "OK. Guess I shoulda waited, man."

"No. Just tell me what you have to say."

"Might wanna do it in private, man. Already got Drake waiting." Hudson led Wierzbowski out to the courtyard. "Drake and I were talking last night, about Hicks and why the hell he flipped on us, so, I got up real early this morning and went to the records office. Pulled up a few files on Paulson. What's today, June . . . twentieth?"

"Yep," Drake replied.

"Yeah. Paulson's birthday would be in two days." Hudson switched his gaze from Drake to Wierzbowski. "I think that's why Hicks is a little . . . touchy."

"I feel sorry for him. Really, I do, but this was no reason for him to snap at you two and Dietrich," Wierzbowski said.

"We've been saying stuff like that for about four years, man. He's been in therapy. He was fine for the last three-four years, and then his girlfriend comes back, and he's been downhill ever since they got back together."

"They did talk about trying to fix things so Hicks doesn't subconsciously associate her with Paulson's suicide," Drake added. "Carlisle isn't a bad person, and she's not actively trying to make things bad for Hicks. It's just . . . her presence that's been making his brain go a little haywire."

"I think the only thing that'll make put his problems back into remission is if he breaks up with her, man."

"I don't think that'll work. He'll see that as running away and not fixing a Goddamn thing."

"It's still no reason for him to take his anger out on us," Wierzbowski sighed.

"Well, whaddaya gonna do, big fella?" Hudson shrugged. "Call him out? He'll be pissed with you, man."

"You gotta catch him at the right time. When we're all behaving-looking at you, Hudson-just approach him and talk to him like a friend," Drake said.

"You know what? I'm not going to bother with him. I can't." Wierzbowski rubbed his face.

Drake frowned. "Why not? What's the matter?"

"I can't confront Hicks. It . . . It . . . It's not my place."

"He did wrong me and Hudson, and Dietrich. It's absolutely your place to say something."

"I still can't do it. I'm sorry."

* * *

"What's got you so down in the dumps?" Spunkmeyer said, looking down at Wierzbowski from the powerloader.

"Nothing that concerns you," Wierzbowski replied. He was sitting on top of a crate, having left the conversation with Drake and Hudson not that long ago, and found a moment of quiet with his thoughts in the loading bay-before Spunkmeyer came in to start working. "Am I in your way?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I can easily pick up the crate you're sitting on and move it to where I need to put it." Spunkmeyer grinned, and then his smile faded. "Seriously, though, what's got you upset?"

Wierzbowski sighed, struggling to put his thoughts together. "Is it my place to talk to Hicks about how he shouldn't have blown up on everyone yesterday?"

"Given that nobody wasn't breaking any rules, I'd say, yeah, you should say something. Nobody deserved it, so you should go stand up for them. Drake and Hudson are your friends, after all."

"Dietrich kinda is, too."

Spunkmeyer snorted. "I thought you had a girlfriend."

Wierzbowski gave him a dirty look. "You laugh every time I mention her, and you claim she doesn't exist."

"It was a joke. I do that in front of the others, OK? I believe you."

"I oughta pluck you from your bloody powerloader and beat the shit out of you."

"Ohh, that's not as easy as you think it is. No." Spunkmeyer patted the side of the powerloader. "You see, before you could even reach me, I'd pick yous up and have you dangling in the air, completely at my mercy, by the way." He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "I've never picked up a human being with this baby, so, I wouldn't wanna, you know, accidentally make a mess. Just sayin'. Anyways, yes, I believe you have a girlfriend, so, what's the deal with Dietrich? How come you and her are suddenly friendly?"

"I tried being nice to her. I was curious why she never interacts with the rest of us, and we started talking a little more, and . . . she's giving me some extra first-aid training."

"So, that's why you've been disappearing to sick bay every few mornings. OK."

"I care about her as a person, but she's difficult to work with."

"Oh, everyone knows that."

"I'm also trying to show her how to better interact with people."

"And how've you been doing on that?"

"I just started today." Wierzbowski covered his head. "I don't know if it's worth it."

"Hey, Ferro was kind of a pain in the ass when we first met. I was the one who showed her how to slow down and think before plowing on ahead with something. Took awhile. It helps to connect on more than just a professional level. You know, talk to her about . . . random shit. Like you're doing with me."

"You're a much different headcase than Dietrich."

"Maybe, maybe not. We're all headcases around here. Anyways, just give it a shot. She might respond better to you if you talk to her like another human being instead of your superior."

"I've tried-"

"Try harder. I know you got it in you. You got through to Drake, didn't you? You can get through to Dietrich."

* * *

Hicks paced around the gym, not saying a word as he observed everyone doing their daily workouts. "The AC will be fixed when you people can do a fucking burpee the right way," he said.

Dietrich looked thoroughly annoyed, but, much to everyone's surprise, she held back from confronting Hicks. Even Hudson was keeping his mouth shut.

"Come on, all of you, on the ground." Hicks evaluated everyone's performance before letting them get up to grab an electrolyte drink. "I said, 'all of you!' Where the fuck is Drake?"

"Drake isn't medically cleared," Dietrich said.

"Drake is full of excuses. He can do one simple exercise, can't he? One isn't gonna rip all his stitches open. I don't think he wants to feel responsible for letting you all overheat."

"Oh, for the love of God, leave Drake alone, man!" Hudson said.

Wierzbowski took a breath. "Hicks, just because something's irritating you right now, doesn't mean you can take it out on the rest of us."

Silence sucked the rest of the air out of the stuffy room. Hicks turned to face Wierzbowski. "What?"

"You're angry over something you have no control over, and you're taking it out on everyone. Just . . . stop and think about what you're doing, sir. It's not our fault. Dietrich was just doing her job yesterday. She didn't deserve to be yelled at."

Apone walked into the gym. "Hudson better not be stripping in here again-" He stopped when he saw Hicks in front of Wierzbowski. "What's going on? How many times this week can we have something interrupt your Goddamn daily exercises?" He put his cigar in his mouth before approaching Hicks. "What'd I tell you about shit like this? I've probably said it a thousand times in the last few months alone; you start feeling like shit, you go to sick bay, and if somebody else notices it, they should be responsible enough to take you down there themselves. Is that clear?" Apone looked around at everyone. "I expect some more initiative outta all of you. No more letting this get outta hand. I don't know how many times we've had to stop and talk about your communication, but I want this to be the last time. No more cowering in a corner because you're afraid someone's gonna yell at you. This ends here. Hicks, come with me. Rest of you, finish up."

The silence continued for about ten seconds after Apone and Hicks left the gym, and then Hudson moaned, "This is my fault, man."

"How the hell is it your fault?" Frost asked.

"I'm the one who found his girlfriend and convinced her to talk to him again! This wouldn't have happened if he didn't have all his progress just reversed on him! Wouldn't have happened if I didn't say anything."

"Don't blame yourself," Wierzbowski said.

Hudson looked like he was going to burst into tears, then he swallowed them, and went back to his workout, which he did with very little enthusiasm.

The group separated not that long after. Wierzbowski headed down to the pool chamber, figuring that was where Drake was getting his exercise. He had no idea about what had just happened in the gym, and Wierzbowski decided to be the one to tell him.

Walking out to the deck, Wierzbowski could see Drake submerged in the deep end of the pool. He surfaced, and looked in Wierzbowski's direction. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing. I came to tell you . . . something happened in the-"

It was at that moment when Spunkmeyer came out of the men's locker room, muttering, "Got sweat in places I didn't know I had . . . Sweat in places I shouldn't feel sweat-hey, 'Ski-I've earned my dip in the pool today. Fuck burpees. What kind of name for an exercise is that anyways?"

Drake put his finger to his lips before submerging again.

Spunkmeyer opened a closet containing most of the pool supplies. "The least we could have is one of those inflatable chairs in here. Is that too much to ask? They're ten dollars at most retail stores. No, all we got is this piss-colored noodle-thing." He took the "piss-colored noodle-thing" into the pool with him, continuing to sigh and gripe to no one as he climbed into the pool. "Were you coming in, 'Ski?"

"No, I was looking for Drake, actually," Wierzbowski replied.

"Well, it looks like he's not here-_AAAAHH! HELP!_" Spunkmeyer was suddenly dragged underwater, screaming. When he resurfaced, he started smacking the water with the noodle-thing. "_Dammit, you're not taking me that easily! Show yourself!_"

Drake appeared, grinning in a manner not unlike he did with Hudson the day before. Pissed, Spunkmeyer swatted him several times with the noodle-thing, cursing and yelling. Drake's smile faded, and he remained fairly stoic as his head was battered with the foam tube, which, frankly, didn't hurt in the slightest.

"What the hell'd you do that for?!" Spunkmeyer hollered, holding the noodle-thing above his head.

"To mess with you," Drake said. "Did the same thing to Hudson yesterday."

"It's his new favorite game, I suppose!" Wierzbowski called from the deck.

"It's half-game, half-actual exercise," Drake replied, "and also a way to keep everyone else out of the pool."

"This pool isn't just yours," Spunkmeyer muttered.

Drake dunked Spunkmeyer's head underwater. "Alright, Wierzbowski, what were you gonna say earlier. Something happened in the what?"

"The gym. Hicks came close to flipping his shit because you weren't there. He said that the air conditioning wouldn't be fixed unless everyone did a perfect exercise. _Everyone_, including you. I . . . kinda stopped him from going further, and Apone came in, told us we needed to take more initiative when it came to someone on the verge of a breakdown, and left to take Hicks to Ranelli's office. Hudson's now blaming himself for Hicks's anger, because he's the one who brought back Carlisle." Wierzbowski took a breath. "It . . . I don't think things're gonna be pretty the next few days."

Spunkmeyer blew water from his nose. "I don't think it's Hudson's fault, to be honest with yous. Carlisle's got nothing to do with Paulson's birthday coming up."

"No, but guilt floated around and it landed on Hudson," Drake said, folding his arms over his bare chest. "I'll talk to Hudson later. No worries."

* * *

Despite feeling like he pushed past a fear with standing up to Hicks in the gym, Wierzbowski felt like it wasn't enough. After all, he didn't confront him about Dietrich. He didn't stick up for Dietrich. _I should have. I should've just . . . let some of my emotions free and tell him what I really thought about how he treated her last night. _Even with Dietrich's poor reaction to Hudson that morning, Wierzbowski still felt bad for her.

For now, it seemed best to walk away for a little bit. After getting a pass, Wierzbowski got on the Metro to Eliza's, hoping for some peace and quiet, and happiness. A few hours alone with Eliza would be perfect. It would be all he needed to feel better.

It was still warm and humid as Wierzbowski walked up to Eliza's apartment building. Not as warm and humid as the gym, but it was enough to take his thoughts back. _Today wasn't the best of days. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Or worse. Who knows. _He entered the building, hoping Eliza was there. _If she's not, this'll be a complete waste of time. _He took a breath as he stepped out of the elevator, and headed down the hall. He released that breath after knocking on her door and hearing someone reply, "Coming!"

A second later, Eliza opened the door, and a smile blossomed on her face. "Hi, sweetie. Come on in."

"Thanks." Wierzbowski leaned down to kiss Eliza. "Good to see you again."

"And it's so good to see you, too. Are you . . . just stopping by to say 'hello,' or is there something you need?"

"I need to be alone-well, with good company, at least. Y-You don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all. I was actually headed out to meet someone. You can join us, if you want."

"Oh." Wierzbowski felt his thoughts come to a screeching halt. "Who are you meeting?"

"Someone from work. New employee I got talking with earlier today. She's really nice, new to the area. I figured I'd start her off on a good impression here. Like I said, you are welcome to join us."

"OK."

Eliza studied his face. "You don't look enthused."

"Truthfully . . . I'd rather not go out, but . . . if it makes you happy . . ."

"I don't want you to be unhappy or uncomfortable in the process. I promise, we won't talk about your past, or anything else that's been making you uncomfortable, but, I can't just cancel."

"Alright. I'll go."

"Are you sure? Last chance, because I have to get going, sweetie."

"I'm sure." He really wasn't, but he also wasn't sure what to do at this point.

* * *

_Question: How does Wierzbowski's response to being overwhelmed differ from Drake's?_


	8. Chapter 8

_What did I just get myself into?_ Wierzbowski gave a quiet sigh while rubbing his face, hoping Eliza didn't notice. She was busy sending a message to her friend, letting her know they were on their way.

Dusk had covered the city with a dark pink-orange hue when the two left the Metro station and walked up into a fairly crowded mall. Tension abruptly spread through Wierzbowski's body, and it made him feel sick. He found himself squeezing Eliza's hand tightly.

"Sweetie, that's starting to hurt."

Wierzbowski glanced down at Eliza. "I'm . . . sorry." He let go of her hand. "Very, very sorry . . ."

Eliza sighed. "Alright, there's something you're not telling me. First, you show up unannounced. Then, you start panicking over being invited to come along with me. Listen, you can't just freeze and try to retreat into your shell at the same time whenever you want. You need to _talk_, 'Ski. I'm good at reading people, but I'm not psychic. Now, let's take a deep breath, relax, and . . . tell me what's really going on."

"Can we do it somewhere there aren't so many people?" As they wandered around, in search for a somewhat secluded area, the knot of panic in the pit of Wierzbowski's stomach was rapidly tightening. _She sounded annoyed. This won't end well. There's no way this can end well. I've become a burden. _He had to fight past that panic in order to tell Eliza everything-his issues with Dietrich, Hudson's unnecessary guilt, Hicks snapping at everyone-and just how overwhelming it was.

Eliza would nod a little as she listening. When Wierzbowski finished talking, she looked him in the eye before giving her response. "Sweetie, this is exactly like I just told you ten minutes ago; you can't expect people to know how you feel when you don't say anything. It's OK to take people aside and talk to them. That's how you work problems out. That's what you did with me when we first met and you told me about your issues." She touched his shoulders. "Anything else?"

"Are you upset with me?"

"No. Why on Earth would I be upset with you?"

"I don't know. You seemed like you were annoyed with me."

"I'm not annoyed, or upset. You're . . . You just need help, that's all. Trust me, I understand why you're miserable and anxious, but you're also the most genuine, sweetest person I've ever met, and I love you for that. If I was ever annoyed or upset with you, I would tell you, I promise."

"OK, thank you. I guess . . . we should be going, now."

Wierzbowski trailed Eliza to a small restaurant in the center of the mall, right across from a fountain. The bottom of each of the fountain's pools were completely covered in pennies, pitched in for good luck. Upon entering the restaurant, a young woman with dark hair waved Eliza over. She stood up to give Eliza a hug, and gestured for her and Wierzbowski to sit.

"You said this is your boyfriend?" the woman asked.

"Yes. 'Ski, this is Cheryl. Cheryl, this is Trevor Wierzbowski." Eliza glanced at Wierzbowski, noticing he was staring out the window. "Sweetie, don't be rude, say 'hi.'"

Wierzbowski snapped out of his thoughts to look at Cheryl. She was giving him a nervous smile, and a slight wave. "S-Sorry. Hi, it's a . . . pleasure to meet you."

Cheryl looked at Eliza, beginning a conversation with just the two of them. Wierzbowski went back to his own mind, pondering everything that had begun to overwhelm him during the day. Dietrich could be an easy fix, but it definitely wouldn't be easy getting her to apologize to Hudson-well, she'd apologize, but not genuinely. Then again, would Hudson care? If Hudson didn't suddenly start feeling guilty over Hicks in the gym, he likely wouldn't care about anything Dietrich said to him. Now that he was feeling awful, it was possible he was letting everything get to his head and mess with it.

_When I get back, I should talk to Hudson._ Wierzbowski felt a small weight lift from his shoulders. He knew what he was going to do. Hudson wasn't difficult to deal with-not like Dietrich-so he'd take care of him first.

Tomorrow, he'd talk to Dietrich. That left Hicks.

Hicks had likely gotten help from Drake's therapist when Apone escorted him out of the gym. It didn't seem like Wierzbowski needed to do anything now, but there was still the issue of confronting him over yelling at Dietrich. Surely, Hicks would be in a better mood tomorrow, and he would listen and apologize and everything would be OK.

"Do you want anything to eat, 'Ski?" Eliza asked, jolting Wierzbowski from his thoughts again.

The knot in his stomach had loosened significantly, revealing an aching hollowness. "Um . . . sure."

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah."

Cheryl got up at one point to use the restroom, leaving Wierzbowski and Eliza by themselves. Eliza squeezed Wierzbowski's shoulder. "You sure everything's OK? Have you noticed Cheryl hasn't tried talking to you?"

Wierzbowski nodded.

"You don't want to . . . just try and be part of the conversation?"

"I have no input for this conversation. I'm sorry."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Anything I want to talk about, I want to keep between you and me. Again, I'm sorry, I don't know this person. I didn't intend to come here and make friends with anyone. I just wanted to talk to you-"

"'Ski. Calm down."

Wierzbowski released his breath.

Eliza was quiet for a moment. "If you don't want to be part of the conversation, then don't. It's OK. I think we both made some mistakes today."

Wierzbowski looked at her. "How?"

"You . . . didn't call to make sure I was available, and I didn't try to make plans for us." Eliza sighed. "It's a learning experience. We'll do better next time." She gave him a small smile. "And don't worry, I still love you. One little mistake isn't going to destroy everything."

"At least _this_ is our mistake. You should hear what Hudson's big mess-up with his girlfriend was, and yet they're still together. I'll have to tell you in private, though." Wierzbowski looked at his watch, and gave a sad sigh upon noticing it was getting close to curfew. "Maybe another day. When . . . When would be a good time for us to see each other again?"

"What's tomorrow? Friday?"

"Yeah."

"Come on over tomorrow night. It'll just be us. And the cat."

* * *

Hudson was laying in bed with the lights still on when Wierzbowski entered the room. He was facing the window, arms wrapped around himself. Closing the door behind him, Wierzbowski sat on the bed, looking over Hudson to see he looked miserable. "Did Drake talk to you?" Wierzbowski asked.

Hudson nodded. "Didn't go well. He kinda had a meltdown and said it's really his fault because he had kicked the dirt in Hicks's face a few months ago. I think he's with Vasquez right now."

Wierzbowski sighed. "I just wish I had more to say than 'there's no need to blame yourself.' I don't know. You shouldn't be feeling this way. Drake said earlier that it sounded like guilt had been floating around the room and happened to land on you."

"Might be right, man." Hudson rolled onto his back, looking up at Wierzbowski. "I mean, I didn't know that Carlisle would . . . unintentionally hurt Hicks."

"Exactly. See? It's not your fault. It's not Drake's fault. Besides, regardless of whether he got back together with Carlisle or not, Paulson's birthday is, what, tomorrow? Hicks is going to be depressed, and that's nobody's fault."

"Yeah." Hudson shrugged. "I still wish I had done more for Hicks when he first came here. I was the only person who didn't . . . even remotely try to help."

"I actually didn't do much, either, if you want me to be honest. I don't think he knew about my drinking until Drake told him. I was afraid he'd . . . look at me differently if I told him I had issues before enlisting."

"He doesn't look at you differently now, does he?"

"I don't think so. He still respects me. I definitely would tell him before Henley, though."

"Absolutely, man. I did end up telling Henley what was going on with Spunkmeyer, though, when he first came. I mean, I felt awful, I didn't know what to do. He was . . . really depressed all the time over something he couldn't control, and I knew Henley had the power to get him help. Now, Spunkmeyer wasn't happy about that, but he understood. Eventually."

"You two still haven't talked, have you?"

Hudson shook his head. "I know he doesn't act like it when we're around everyone else, but he still thinks I abandoned him. Hell, I can't believe that started 'cause I accused Drake of trusting you more than me. That was probably the stupidest thing I ever said, man."

"Oh, you have a massive arsenal of stupid things you've said over the years. I wouldn't say this is _the_ stupidest."

A weak smile crossed Hudson's face. "You're probably right, man. Still . . ." the smile faded, "I don't want to be known for being stupid."

"You have a very . . . colorful past, but if someone asked me to describe you in three words or less, I wouldn't include 'stupid.'"

"Oh?" Hudson laughed. "Then what are your three words to describe me?"

"Loyal, funny, and . . ." Wierzbowski paused, then smirked, ". . . hungry?"

"I'll take it, man! Better than 'stupid.'"

Hicks knocked on the door, saying, "Lights out. Get in your own rooms and go to bed."

Wierzbowski stood up. "I'll see you in the morning, Hudson. Are you . . . going to be OK?"

"I think I will after getting some sleep," Hudson replied. "Thanks for checking in, though, I appreciate it."

* * *

In the morning, Wierzbowski bravely approached Dietrich as she left the mess hall. Her head was down as she walked quickly down to sick bay, but she looked up briefly to notice Wierzbowski behind her.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Wierzbowski asked.

"About what?" Dietrich replied.

"About . . . yesterday. About what you said to Hudson and what I said to you. I-I still think you should apologize to him, but . . . I'm also going to apologize, because I should've taken a moment to think before just saying, 'This is the first lesson in communicating better with people.' It didn't come out all that nice, and I think . . . you'd agree that we should be focusing more on building this relationship up rather than repeatedly tearing it down."

Dietrich nodded. "You're right, I really shouldn't have said that to Hudson. Probably because he approached us normally and not with a bucket on his head."

"I wouldn't care if he approached us in just his skivvies. It wasn't called for."

"Fine. I'll . . . apologize."

"Can you do it without sounding like it's actively killing you?"

"Yes."

Wierzbowski didn't challenge her. "Alright. Thanks."

Dietrich gestured toward the main doors leading into sick bay. "Do you want to come help me with something?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Organizing your medicines, refilling prescriptions." Dietrich picked up a box and set it on a table in an exam room. She then grabbed a clipboard. "Most of these are vitamins and supplements, but do not get them mixed up. Alright . . . Sergeant Apone, none. Private Crowe, none. Corporal Dietrich, birth control." She looked at Wierzbowski. "There should only be one birth control, just give it to me. Thanks. Private Drake, antacids, vitamin D tablets."

Wierzbowski pulled two bottles from the box. "Drake never told me he was taking these."

"Well, when I passed around the supplement sheet last week, those are what he wanted, but the vitamin D tablets were at the request of Doctor Ranelli. Next, Corporal Ferro, none. Private Frost, none. Corporal Hicks, vitamin D tablets, sleep aid. Private Hudson, vitamins, and laxatives-of course. Private Spunkmeyer, none. Private Vasquez, none. Private Wierzbowski, none." Dietrich sighed, taking a look at all the bottles Wierzbowski had organized by name. She glanced at each label, reading it to herself. "OK, nice. Thank you, 'Ski. Stay here, I'll go get the name stickers."

After printing out several sheets of name labels, Dietrich returned to the exam room. She didn't say a word at first, and then she looked at Wierzbowski. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, anything," Wierzbowski replied, taking a sticker sheet and matching names with bottles.

Dietrich worked her jaw, and asked, "What's it like to be in love?"

That question caught Wierzbowski off-guard. He looked at Dietrich, struggling to conceal his confusion. "W-Well, it's . . . it's like . . . It's a bit difficult to describe, if you want me to be honest."

Dietrich nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious. You're in love, aren't you?"

"Yes. I just wasn't expecting that question, that's all. Um . . . love . . . how to describe it." Wierzbowski sighed. "It's like . . . being hugged. For a long, long time. You feel the warmth seeping through your body and it's a very nice, pleasant feeling, like a cup of hot chocolate on Christmas Eve." He turned red with embarrassment. "Probably not the best description, but . . . that's all I got."

Again, Dietrich nodded. "OK. I'm sorry. I was trying to find something else to talk about that wasn't small talk or work-related."

"That's alright. I understand. Odd thing to start with, but I kinda like it."

Dietrich gave a slight smirk. "Thanks." She handed Wierzbowski Drake and Hicks's medicine and vitamins. "Go drop these off, and then come back for more."

Wierzbowski headed down to living quarters, first stopped at Drake's room. The door was slightly open, allowing Wierzbowski to see Drake laying on the bed with one of his journals propped up against his legs. "Dietrich asked me to bring these to you. Why the hell did you put in a request for a giant thing of antacids?"

"Haven't been feeling good since my surgery, and they're good to have around when the food here is less than shit," Drake replied. "Just put it in the bathroom. Did the vitamin D tablets come in?"

"Yeah. I have them right here."

"Thanks."

After setting the two bottles on the bathroom sink, Wierzbowski's thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Hudson the previous night. "Can I . . . talk to you about something, Drake?"

Closing his journal, Drake made full eye contact with Wierzbowski. "Sure, absolutely."

"Last night, Hudson was telling me that you started blaming yourself over Hicks's issue. I was wondering . . . if you were OK."

"For the most part, yeah. Hudson told me what you guys talked about when you came back from your date. I mean, you're right. Regardless of what any of us do, Hicks is going to feel like crap because of his friend. It's not our fault that he died."

"No, but, it would be Paulson's birthday today, and we should be as supportive as we can." Wierzbowski opened the bedroom door. "I'll talk to you later, Drake." He took a breath as he walked to Hicks's room, finding the door closed. Knocking, he said, "Sir, I've got your supplements from Dietrich."

"Door's unlocked," Hicks replied.

Wierzbowski entered the room to find Hicks sitting cross-legged on the bed. Photos and letters were strewn in front of him, and he was wearing just a T-shirt and PT shorts. "Everything alright?"

Hicks nodded. "Just going through some stuff."

Setting the tablet bottles on Hicks's dresser, Wierzbowski glanced over some of the pictures on the bed. They all showed Hicks smiling, usually alongside an older gentleman in an officer's uniform. "That's him?"

Another nod. "That's him." Hicks pointed another photo, showing himself, Paulson, with a woman in an evening gown, and a young man in jeans and a heavy sweater. "That's his wife, Julia, and his son, Vince. They always treated me like family."

"Do you keep in contact with them?"

"Haven't in a long time. I know Julia leaves plastic poinsettias at her husband's grave, because he died close to Christmas, but that's it. I haven't talked to them, and they haven't talked to me." Hicks sighed. "Maybe I should drop a message. Just say 'hello' and ask how they're doing."

"Might be good for you. That's just my thought, though." Wierzbowski touched Hicks's shoulder, continuing to look at some of the photos. "He invited you to a lot of parties."

"I was probably the only enlisted man at some of them," Hicks replied, "but he made sure I was treated like everyone else. The rest of command grew to like me. Russell, who was a colonel at the time. Hardy, Percival, all respected me." Hicks sighed, taking a tissue from a box next to him. "I wouldn't have passed basic if it wasn't for Paulson. I don't think any of you would believe this, but, dammit, I was scared. Coming from a quiet little town in southern Alabama, I wasn't at all prepared for boot camp, mentally. Sure, I was a hard worker and I got the job done at home, but I was never really yelled at or rushed. I'd look down at my bed or folded clothes and beat on myself for not being able to do it right and fast at the same time. A couple weeks went by, and I found myself starting to break down." Hicks fell silent for a moment, taking his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket. "Paulson helped me stay focused. Taught me much of what he knew about leadership and how to treat the men and women under your command. A lot of what I do with you, I learned from him."

Wierzbowski took a moment to think. "I don't know if you've heard this before, but, I think he'd be proud of you."

"I have heard that before. Most of the time, I just really miss him, and want his advice, especially when things get rough with Drake. He . . . made the early release program for people like Drake, and I wish he was here to see it. I mean, I know now that . . . it may have been what led to him hanging himself, but I think he'd have cared for Drake as much as he cared for me." Hicks took a draw on his cigarette, and blew the smoke toward his open window. He then looked back up at Wierzbowski. "Can you . . . keep this between us?"

"If that's what you want. Would you like me to stay?" _I think you talking about this is helping you cope._

"I want to say 'yes,' but I also want to say 'no,' and I don't know why."

Taking a chair from Hicks's desk, Wierzbowski sat next to the bed. Any other day, he would've left the room, afraid he had taken too much time away from his superior. Instead, he chose to stay, feeling a little braver. "Any story you want to tell, I'm listening."

* * *

_Question: How are Wierzbowski's actions with Hicks similar to how Hudson comforts/reassures Drake?_


	9. Chapter 9

Hicks didn't become fired up or angry as he gave detailed stories behind each picture on his bed. He seemed calm, and surprisingly collected, and Wierzbowski let him talk at his own pace. There was a point where Wierzbowski wondered if Dietrich was looking for him, and if she was pissed he didn't come back to finish his duties.

A part of Wierzbowski didn't care, though. For once, Hicks was talking about his past calmly, without exploding or bursting into tears. This was good for him. This would help him continue healing, albeit slowly.

_I think Hicks is just happy someone's listening rather than telling him what to do about his grief. _Wierzbowski switched his gaze between Hicks and whatever photograph he was holding.

Hicks held his composure up until it looked like he had run out of stories to tell, or he felt like he just couldn't go on. He looked down at the pictures and letters on his bed. In truth, he hadn't covered every item. He gave a heavy sigh before making eye contact with Wierzbowski. He didn't say a word, but Wierzbowski could see his composure shattering in his eyes.

Almost immediately, Hicks looked away, putting his head in his hands. He took a breath before tears started running down his cheeks. "Wierzbowski, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sir. I can't imagine today's been easy for you, emotionally," Wierzbowski replied.

"It's not just that . . . today was Paulson's birthday. It's that . . . everyone knew today was his birthday, and they decided the best course of action was to leave me alone, don't say anything to me."

"I don't think they're doing it to hurt you. I think it's because they're not sure how to help you after you've blown up on them so many times."

Hicks nodded a little. "I wish I didn't blow up on everyone. That's the horrible part about this. Whenever . . . Whenever I'm not in the depressed phase . . . I turn my emotions on everyone else, and they don't deserve it."

"I'm no expert, but . . . I think just being aware of that is a major step to recovering. You're not using it as an excuse. You know what you say and do is wrong, and you're fighting hard to keep it from happening again."

"That's the thing," Hicks sighed. "There are days where I don't feel like fighting anymore. I know Drake has those days, too, but that doesn't offer any solutions."

"I'll be honest, back when I first quit drinking, I had days where I just wanted to give in to the cravings. I used to think that having those thoughts and feelings were a sign of failure. Eliza told me that . . . just not giving in is a step in the right direction, and I agree with her. Every day I don't give up and keep going, that's a step forward. Every day you get out of bed and get dressed and wake us up, I think that's a little victory for you. Treat it as such."

Wiping the tears away from his face with a tissue, Hicks nodded. "I can give that a shot."

There were three loud knocks at the door, following by Dietrich saying, "'Ski, are you in there? I needed you back in sick bay a long time ago!"

"He's with me, Dietrich!" Hicks replied.

At first, Dietrich didn't respond, then she calmly opened the door. She looked at the floor, almost as if she was afraid Hicks would start yelling at her again.

Hicks was silent at first. He glanced down at the photos on his bed before looking back over at Dietrich. "I'm not mad at you. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You were just doing your job, and I'm sorry."

Though she seemed hesitant at first, Dietrich nodded before saying, "Apology accepted." She looked at Wierzbowski. "Look, I said, when you delivered the supplements, come back to sick bay."

"Hicks needed someone to talk to for a few minutes," Wierzbowski replied.

For a brief moment, Dietrich looked like she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. "Alright. Are you . . . still talking?"

"You can go, if you want," Hicks whispered. "I need to be alone, anyway. Just for a few hours. I'll let you know if I'd like someone to listen."

Without a word, Wierzbowski stood up, following Dietrich out into the hallway. "I really am sorry I didn't come back as soon as possible," he said.

"I'm not upset, 'Ski. I'm really not. You . . . You connect better with people's mental problems than I can." Dietrich looked up at him. "Maybe you'll be the person referring Marines to psychologists if you go further in your training."

"I don't know if I'll go that far."

"Well, I'm not letting you quit. Not unless Apone tells me to stop, or you come up with a real good reason to stop. It would look . . . awful on my part if you just quit."

Wierzbowski nodded. "That's understandable. Did . . . the rest of the vitamins get delivered?"

"I did all that."

"Alright. Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"

Dietrich sighed, rubbing her face. "Nothing that I can think of."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go . . . do whatever you want."

* * *

There was some comfort in the fact that Eliza was expecting Wierzbowski to be at her apartment that night. There would be no surprises and no miscommunications.

Wierzbowski left base a little early to get a gift of some kind for Eliza. It just seemed rude to show up empty-handed, especially after what happened the previous night. _I already did the chocolate and flowers. I should take it a tiny step forward._

He found himself standing in the middle of a gift shop, feeling clueless. _I should've asked Drake for advice before doing this._

Eliza didn't seem like a picky person, or an overly sensitive person. Still, Wierzbowski felt like nothing in that shop was good enough for her, and he didn't want to resort to the flowers and chocolate. Eliza was adventurous and liked being surprised. Finally, his gaze settled on an ornate jewelry box with a gold cat face on the lid. _I think she'd like that-_ His thought came a halt when he saw the price tag. _Never mind. I need to get something . . . something . . . anything!_

Right before he grabbed a small bouquet of flowers, a thought hit him. It wouldn't be much, but it was at least not flowers and chocolate. _A gallon of ice cream. Crap, what flavor does she like, though? I should know this and I don't!_

Wierzbowski could picture Drake shaking his head, clicking his tongue, and saying, "Panicking isn't helping."

_And he'd be right._ After leaving the gift shop, Wierzbowski jogged across the street to an ice cream parlor, hoping they had gallons or pints for sale. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a freezer loaded from top to bottom with containers of ice cream, but the relief was short-lived after paying for one and going back outside into the summer heat. _Crap, it's gonna melt, it's gonna melt . . . _He put the plastic bag between his teeth while searching his pockets for a map, frantically trying to find a familiar street. _Not that far._

He could feel cold condensation in the bag as he dashed into Eliza's apartment building. Another wave of relief washed over him as he knocked on her door, and heard her unlatch it.

"Hi, sweetie-why . . . are you out of breath?" Eliza asked.

"This is for you." Wierzbowski handed her the bag. "It's . . . ice cream. I ran all the way from the parlor to here. I'm hoping it didn't melt."

"Well, can I tell you a little secret?"

"What?"

"It's better slightly melted. Makes it easier to scoop."

"Oh. OK."

"Aww, did you wear yourself out for nothing? Poor baby. Come on in and sit." Eliza took the ice cream out of the bag to put it in her freezer. "Cookie dough?"

"I didn't know what flavors you liked. I'm sorry," Wierzbowski said.

"I haven't met a single soul who doesn't like cookie dough," Eliza replied. "You have no need to be sorry, 'Ski. You're so sweet and thoughtful." She kissed his cheek.

Wierzbowski picked her up to hug her. A sense of happiness flooded him. This moment should last forever. He kissed her, holding her tight as she laughed.

"OK, put me down, 'Ski, I need to finish making dinner." Eliza had her arms around Wierzbowski's neck. "Can it wait?"

"Yeah . . . it can wait." Wierzbowski set her down, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. You're like . . . that big stuffed animal that you can win at the fair. Oh, I should take you to the fair later this year. End of August."

Wierzbowski frowned. "We might . . . not be here by the end of August. Our base rotation is usually two-to-three months. We've been here since May . . . and . . . we might be leaving by mid-July, maybe early August." A sense of dread and regret crushed the happiness Wierzbowski felt just five seconds ago. _I shouldn't have said that._

Eliza's smile half-faded. "I know, but . . . I didn't stop to think about that."

"I wish I didn't bring it up."

"I think you were going to have to at some point, and . . . I'd rather have it sooner than later."

"Dammit, I didn't want to talk about it now!" Wierzbowski sank into a chair, suddenly feeling nauseated.

"What choice do we have? If we talk about it now, we don't have to worry too much about it when you drop the bomb that you're leaving in two days." Eliza sat next to him. "Look . . ." She paused, sighing, "Maybe we won't talk about it tonight. Talk to Hudson. He was long-distance with Miranda for a few months before you guys were moved here. I'm sure he can help you. But, we're talking about it on our next night out, OK? This is not something we should put off." She gently took his shoulders after pulling her chair closer to him. "'Ski? Everything's gonna be OK. We'll talk this out, figure out what we'll do when that day comes, and go from there. We'll see each other again, I promise. Let's take a deep breath for now, relax, and we will worry about this next time. We're not procrastinating. We're just giving our minds time to process this so we can discuss it like mature adults."

Wierzbowski took a breath. "Alright. You . . . You have a point."

Eliza kissed him. "You trust me?"

"Yes."

"OK. Let's enjoy tonight."

After dinner and a bowl of ice cream, the two were snuggled on the couch, with Eliza flipping through movie channels on her TV. She glanced at Wierzbowski, noticing he was looking drowsy. "Can I ask you a hypothetical question, 'Ski?"

"Sure," Wierzbowski replied, adjusting himself in an attempt to not fall asleep.

"If I said you could spend the night, what would you say?"

Wierzbowski's mind came to a halt, a much more screeching halt than when Dietrich asked him about love. "I wouldn't say anything, because I'd be surprised. W-Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. We snuggle all the time when we're awake. Maybe . . . you want to take a teensy step forward, and just snuggle in bed."

"Well . . . a part of me . . . wants to, but I do know how the guys are, and they'd be asking a lot of embarrassing questions, and I . . . just think it's too soon. I-I know we're not, you know, 'sleeping together' in the way everyone else interprets it, but I . . . I'm not ready."

"Not ready to actually sleep with me, or not ready to have sex?"

"Both."

"That's OK. Like I said, it's just a hypothetical question. I'm not expecting you to be ready right now or tomorrow night. You tell me when you're ready to move forward."

"Well, I don't want you waiting forever for me to do something."

Eliza grinned. "I don't think it'll take you forever. You got to kissing and hugging and snuggling. I think you'll be comfortable before you know it." Her grin faded a little. "I'm also asking because some friends of mine, and family, who've been asking some dumb questions about you."

"Like what?"

"'Does he ask you for lewd photos to put in his locker?'"

Wierzbowski frowned. "Who the hell asked you that?"

"Someone from work. Not Cheryl. Someone else. And don't worry, I stood up for you." Eliza nuzzled his face, and whispered, "You'd never ask that, would you?"

"No. I didn't start dating you because you're pretty-well, you are pretty, but that's not why I'm dating you."

Eliza smirked. "Thank you."

"For . . . For what?"

"For being honest."

"You're welcome." Wierzbowski pulled Eliza closer to him. "I love you." It felt good to be the one initiating the "I love yous" for once. It made him feel a tad more confident.

And yet, every time he had that tiny boost of confidence, it was close to when he had to leave. Leave and go back to spending much of his day fermenting in his thoughts, losing that confidence swiftly. The happiness faded when he looked at his watch. "I've got to go in about ten minutes, if I want to get back before curfew."

"Ten minutes is enough." Eliza put her arms around Wierzbowski's neck, resting her head on his chest. "I'm free Sunday afternoon. I was thinking maybe you and me, and Miranda and Hudson could go somewhere. Drake and his girlfriend can come along, if they want."

"Somewhere as in-"

"Out to lunch, mini-golfing."

"Alright. I'll give it some though. What about . . . talking about . . . y-you know, a long-distance relationship?"

"We'll get to that, without a doubt, 'Ski."

They both turned when they heard something _thud_ on the floor, and saw Eliza's cat eyeing the empty wineglass on the rug. His paw was stretched out to start knocking over Wierzbowski's glass, which was still half-full of water.

Sighing, Eliza got up, quickly taking both glasses and bringing them to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, 'Ski."

"No, it's alright." Wierzbowski adjusted his cap as he stood. "I'd probably fall asleep and get in a heap of trouble tomorrow."

"Well, if you ever want to stay the night-sleep on the couch, if you want-you can."

"Then I'd have to deal with people asking if we slept together, and I'm . . . not ready for that. I-It's nothing against you, I swear, but-"

"'Ski, it's OK. I don't like dealing with those kinds of questions, either. I know my personal life is nobody's business, but . . . I'm an open person. I used to tell everyone everything, and . . . now, that's what they expect of me. If I don't say anything, they think I don't like them or I have a problem with them. Over the last few weeks, I've been starting to see you as my one person to trust with everything, mainly because you opened up to me that first night."

"I felt like I had to. That, and . . . I felt like I could trust you. I've been very open with you. Is . . . Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Stuff about my past?"

"Yeah."

"You've never asked. I'll be real right now, I have no awful secrets. I never drank or did drugs. I had a stutter in school that I managed to deal with, but after I got over it, people didn't . . . let it go. They kept asking about it, asking if I remember how I sounded before doing an 'impression' of me." Eliza looked at the floor. "At least I don't have people like that in my life anymore. I try not to interact with people I went to school with. If I see someone familiar while I'm at work, I tell someone to take my post, and I stock the back."

"Do you feel proud of the fact that you got over your stutter? Forget everyone who'd been a bit mean to you; are you at all proud of yourself? I think you should be. If . . . no one else is going to be proud, at least you should be for yourself."

Eliza nodded. "Looking back, yeah, I should be proud. I wouldn't have held my job as long as I have if I didn't work through it in school." She looked at Wierzbowski. "There's also the fact that I dropped out of med school. I thought I wanted to be a nurse, but I was wrong. I was intimidated, felt a little bit pressured, and after a few months, I said, 'I'm done. I'm miserable. I will not get any personal reward from this.' Not a lot of people in my family were supportive of that."

"I can understand that. I got blamed for my divorce, even though it really wasn't my fault. I blame myself, though, sometimes, because I was the idiot who didn't ask enough questions."

A small smile came across Eliza's face. "As much as I want to ask you about your previous relationship, because I'm curious, I know that would probably hurt you a lot, and . . . I won't ask, ever."

"I might tell you the full story when I feel comfortable," Wierzbowski replied. He gave Eliza a hug. "I'll see you on Sunday." He kissed her forehead. "I love you. Sweet dreams."

* * *

The rest of the unit was in the lounge when Wierzbowski returned to base. Aside from Dietrich and Hicks, of course. Dietrich was probably by herself somewhere, and Hicks was likely still in his room, reminiscing, thinking, mourning.

Wierzbowski walked up to Hudson, who was sitting on the couch and tossing peanuts in his mouth. "Hey, can I talk to you?"

"Absolutely, man," Hudson replied. "What about?"

"Can we do it in private?"

Nodding, Hudson stood up, leading Wierzbowski out into the hall. "Everything OK?"

"Well . . . something hit me tonight, while I was with Eliza. I realized that in a few months, we're not going to be able to see each other, and I don't know how to deal with that. You had to go through that with Miranda, and I wanted your advice."

Hudson thought for a moment, scratching the back of his head. "Write to each other often. Video-call when you can. That's . . . That's all I got, man. Miranda and I still weren't sure about things because we'd only known each other two days when I had to leave. Honestly, it wasn't till the literal fuck-up in Norway when we started putting more effort into our letters and phone calls. I don't think you and Eliza have to worry about that, so . . . write, call. That's all you really can do, man. The getting-over-it is something I ain't sure about because I hadn't fully formed my emotional attachment to Miranda yet. Hey, we'll both be in that boat when the time comes for us to move again, so, you'll have me to talk to when you feel like crap." Hudson grinned.

Wierzbowski sighed. "That's it?"

"That is it, man. I'm sorry. Only way for you to take her with you is to get married, and I don't think you're ready for that yet, man. I know I'm not. Miranda's not. We've barely touched the subject, to be honest. Doesn't mean we don't love each other. We're just not ready. Besides, she just started her new job and I don't want to pull her away from it this soon." Hudson patted his shoulder. "It's something you're gonna have to accept and get used to, because your only options are get married, which you're not ready for, or end your contract, man. I don't think you wanna quit, though. I don't wanna see you quit. I think you got a lot more growing to do."

"If my first relationship didn't fail, I don't think I'd be here right here. The whole reason I'm here is because I thought I'd never find love, but I didn't want to drink myself to death." A choking sensation began knotting up in Wierzbowski's throat. "Now that I have Eliza . . . w-what am I supposed to do?"

"I don't think a romantic relationship is the only thing you needed outta this, man. You got friends, now, and respect. Did you have either of those when you were a civilian?"

"No."

"Well, you got 'em now. Doesn't that make you happy?"

Wierzbowski paused, unsure of how to respond. Of course it made him happy. He was much less lonely here than he was as a civilian. "It does, but . . . I don't want my relationship with Eliza to deteriorate."

"It won't. When you're away from her, write as many letters as you want. Send her gifts. If she responds and always tells you she misses you, that's a good sign, man." Hudson gave Wierzbowski's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You won't see each other for a few months, but that doesn't mean you won't see each other ever again. It gives you something to work harder towards, and makes that moment when you see each other again so much more satisfying, man. Plus, it's a few months away. You got time to think about it and talk things over with her."

* * *

_Question: How has Hudson and Wierzbowski's relationship gone past their connection with Drake?_


	10. Chapter 10

Wierzbowski lay awake that night, despite feeling exhausted. He was overwhelmed with what all had happened that day, and found it hard to get his mind to slow down. _Maybe I should've spent the night at Eliza's, _he thought. _Maybe I should've said something else when she asked about sleeping together. Maybe I shouldn't have panicked when moving away was brought up. I need to be trying harder with this. _He rubbed his face, giving an irritated sigh. All he wanted was sleep at the moment.

It was quiet, aside from Drake's snoring and Hicks sitting up to sneeze in the rooms on either side of Wierzbowski's. He stared at the ceiling, hoping to just drift off soon. He tossed and turned, until pausing to look at the clock. _Only ten. It's only ten o'clock at night._

The more he thought about how much he wanted to sleep, the more overwhelmed he felt. His heart pounded harder instead of slower. He was overcome with a choking sensation when he thought, _In the past, I dealt with this by drinking._

It had been awhile since Wierzbowski felt any strong cravings for alcohol. The cravings were just as bad as the hangovers, but it was mainly because of the thoughts and feelings that would appear. Feelings of worthlessness, anger at himself, fear that he wasn't doing enough to be better than he used to be. Feelings he didn't want to deal with, because he didn't know how to explain them, or if anyone would listen. Back then, he had no one. Now, he had more people than he thought he would. Despite that, there was a fear they wouldn't fully understand what he was saying.

_I should talk to someone before I start thinking too hard._ Wierzbowski got out of bed, sliding on his boots before going out into the hallway. There were two very dim ceiling panel-lights on, one at each end of the hall. There was no sound aside from the buzzing of the lights, humming of generators, and the snores of some of his teammates. Wierzbowski could smell smoke coming from Hicks's room; the corporal was likely having trouble sleeping as well, and decided to have a cigarette to relax himself. Instead of going to Drake, like he planned, Wierzbowski knocked on Hicks's door.

A moment later, Hicks answered. His eyes were bloodshot and he was indeed holding a cigarette. "Yes?"

Wierzbowski couldn't get any words out. _It's going to sound stupid. _"Are you . . . having trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

Wierzbowski nodded.

"You know, after earlier today, I think I owe you a listen. Come on in and sit."

"I don't know how to explain what's going on in my head, sir."

"That's OK. Whatever comes to mind, just say it. I'm not gonna dismiss you."

"Thanks." Wierzbowski sat in a chair, watching Hicks sit cross-legged on the bed before saying anything. "I'm not entirely sure . . . about how to move forward in my relationship. I know I love Eliza, but I'm . . . I have feelings that I'm not doing enough, and I'm afraid that I won't have done enough by the time we get new base orders."

"How long have you guys been dating?"

"About . . . two-three weeks?"

"That's not that long, based on what I know. I'm certainly not an expert, but, just from what I've observed, that isn't that long. Then again, it all depends on how often you see each other and what goes on during each date. Plus, you've got close to a month before we receive base orders. We might even have two or more months before we get new base orders. It happens. I wouldn't be worrying about it just yet."

"I just don't want to leave and feel . . . empty, and that I've left her feeling like I was a waste of time."

"Do you feel empty right now?"

"I'm not sure. I definitely feel like Eliza is perfect for me. She tells me I'm not a bother or too much to handle, and yet . . . I've put a lot of pressure on myself to be . . . the best I can be. I-I know a lot of people would tell me to just be myself, but . . . I don't think they understand how much I don't like myself. I tend to not know what to say. I don't know how to impress a girl. I come off as too quiet and I think . . . people see it as rude or . . . maybe even problematic. I have issues with my confidence and self-esteem. I think I always have."

Hicks nodded. "Does she keep wanting to see you again?"

"Yeah."

"You got nothing to worry about. If she didn't want to see you again, she wouldn't be putting the effort into making plans to get together with you."

"You got a point, there. I don't know, I just . . . I feel like I'm overthinking everything."

"It sounded like you had a couple other things on your mind."

"Well, there's Dietrich. She's . . . giving me some extra first-aid training, but everything is . . . up and down with her. One day, she'll be patient with me. The next, she'll get immensely frustrated with the littlest things. I don't know how to completely . . . make peace with her and befriend her. I mean, I feel like we're close. When she was crying after you yelled at her, she let me hold her. I don't think she'd let anyone else do that. And she let me borrow one of her textbooks."

"Dietrich is socially slow. That much I've observed. Not a bad thing, but definitely something she should work on. I'm actually not surprised you're the first person to try and help her."

"What makes you say that?"

"You two are similar. I'd think it would be either you or Drake, but her and Drake fight like cats and dogs, so he's outta the picture. Anyway, you both have a difficult time talking to people. Dietrich has no filter and you have too big a filter. You balance each other out in that respect. She has no issue telling people what she thinks about them, but she does have an issue telling people how she feels. Some of us can tell when . . . it's obvious she's sad and lonely, but she refuses to say anything. You, on the other hand, keep all your thoughts on others to yourself, but, you also kinda bottle up your feelings on yourself. There's only a couple people you're comfortable talking to about your emotions, and I think you need to be that for Dietrich. Keep going to her, keep asking how she's doing. That forms a routine. People like her prefer a routine, but it needs to be a gradual introduction. You get that?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "How do I-"

"Just do it. Be casual about it. Let her know that you're a teammate, and a friend. If something's wrong, and I mean really wrong, like she . . . becomes depressed and might be going down a bad path, someone needs to know so we can get help. That's my point here. I don't want to go through what I went through in my old unit. So far, you guys have been good about . . . just caring for each other and helping each other emotionally. You have no idea how proud and happy that makes me." Hicks offered a smile. "Anything else you wanna talk about?"

"One more thing. Everything I just told you-with Eliza, and Dietrich-it all . . . feels . . . overwhelming and I don't know what to do about it."

"Take some time for yourself. Don't worry about what everyone else wants from you-well, except what Apone and I want from you-and take a little bit of time to care for yourself. Exercise, good food, meditation, tea, talking with friends, anything that makes you feel good. Do it. Go talk to Doctor Ranelli if you want. He's not here just for Drake."

"I know. He's been helpful in . . . keeping me from feeling like I need to turn to alcohol to feel better. Before I came in here, I thought about it, in retrospect. I thought about how if this was a long time ago, I'd be . . . almost in pain, because I wanted a drink so bad."

"Nothing wrong with thoughts like that, especially since you acknowledge that it was in the past, and it's not the right thing to do, now that you have people to turn to." Hicks put his cigarette in his mouth. "Paulson once told me shame is a blessing and a curse. Feeling it means you know what you did was wrong, and you know not to make that same mistake again. On the other hand, others might use it to keep you from moving past it and operating at your best."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I guess that's what I'm afraid of."

"Yeah. Just remember that . . . if that ever happens, don't let it push you down. Use it to better yourself."

* * *

The next day was largely uneventful until lunch. Everyone sat down in the mess hall with trays containing a slice of pizza, but it wasn't normal pizza-well, it wasn't normal to Spunkmeyer.

"Why are you staring at it, Spunkmeyer?" Hicks asked.

"I can't eat this," Spunkmeyer replied. "It's got pineapple on it."

"Pick it off. What are you, five?"

"It's . . . wrong. On so many levels, it's wrong."

Wierzbowski looked at Drake, who said, "It's a New York thing."

"You don't put pineapple on pizza, dude!"

Frost rubbed his face. "Have you even tried it?"

"I don't have to. It's not right."

Hicks took a breath. "Alright, Spunkmeyer, what's the right way to do pizza?"

"No, don't ask him!" Wierzbowski groaned.

"We'll be here all day!" Drake added.

"I'll eat it, man!" Hudson took Spunkmeyer's tray.

"Of course you would," Spunkmeyer muttered.

Apone had been quiet up until this point. "Spunkmeyer, you're gonna get up, go get another lunch, eat it without a word, and then you're gonna be on garbage duty for the rest of the week."

There was silence for a minute or two, and then Hudson said, "What's wrong with pineapple on pizza, man?"

"That's a debate that goes back a really long time, and we're not having it here," Hicks replied.

"It doesn't belong," Drake said. "Too sweet. Now, eggs . . . I once had a pizza with hot egg yolk drizzled on it and it was actually pretty good. It's gotta be one of those pizzas where the sauce is a cheese, though. A good cheese."

Spunkmeyer gave him a disgusted look. "Eggs don't belong on pizza!"

"What about anchovies, man?" Hudson asked.

"They belong more than eggs and pineapple, that's for sure!"

"How about . . . mango salsa?"

"Absolutely not. No fruit should ever touch a pizza."

"I guess we shouldn't ever be stationed in Hawaii, then," Drake said with a grin. "Spunkmeyer might have a heart attack."

"Why are we having this discussion?" Vasquez asked.

"Because Spunkmeyer's having a hissy fit over pineapple on pizza," Drake replied.

Vasquez gave Spunkmeyer a dirty look.

Wierzbowski was a little surprised Dietrich hadn't said anything. This was the perfect situation for her to completely rip into Spunkmeyer. She remained silent, though, focused on her own business.

After lunch, Wierzbowski observed Dietrich going not to sick bay, but to the hallway leading to the base's Metro stop. Out of curiosity, he followed her. He didn't go unnoticed, though; as they headed down the stairs, Dietrich turned to notice Wierzbowski behind her. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Nothing. Where are you going?"

"Why is that any of your business?"

"I'm . . . just curious. And I was wondering when our next lesson was."

"Later."

"Later today, or-"

"Maybe."

"Is everything OK?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I don't see why I wouldn't."

"I'm just going out to be alone for a few hours. Everything is done in sick bay. Does that answer your question?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "Yeah. I-"

"I do appreciate your concern."

_Well, that came out of nowhere._ "Th-Thanks."

Dietrich was quiet for a moment, then regained eye contact with Wierzbowski. "Sometimes I feel like the others don't notice or care if I leave."

"I think they do. You just don't care to tell them. Maybe if you did . . ."

"I'll think about it." Dietrich turned, continuing to head down the stairs without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

The rest of the guys looked comfortable with the way they were sitting on the couch in the lounge. Drake was not. Until he got the OK from a doctor, he couldn't even sit in a comfortable position because of his bandage. He began scratching at the bandage, grunting in frustration.

"Do you need help over there, Drake?" Frost asked.

Drake shook his head, then yanked his shirt out of his utility trousers, lifting it to try and dig under the bandage. "Fucking . . . itch," he mumbled.

"You'll let an infection get in if you do that," Wierzbowski said.

"Piss off."

_He's really uncomfortable. You should try and help him._ "Is it just an itch, or is anything else bothering you?"

"Everything."

Wierzbowski stood up. "Um . . . let's . . . go down to sick bay, see if I can find anything for you."  
"

You're not a medtech, 'Ski," Frost said.

"No, but . . . Dietrich's been teaching me, and she's not here right now." _I'll do the best I can._

Hudson decided to follow Wierzbowski and Drake. "Wait for me, man."

"You don't need to come," Drake sighed.

"Yes, I do."

_What've I just gotten myself into?_ Wierzbowski knew he could get into a lot of trouble for going into the medical supplies without Dietrich. _I want to prove to her I'm capable . . . I know I've only had a few lessons, and I've been reading her books. _"OK, Drake, what all is bothering you?"

Drake sat on an exam table. "I've got an itch under my bandage, and every muscle around my back and my stomach hurts from sitting so stiff."

_Alright, maybe this'll be a bit harder. I can't give him anymore pain medication, because he's already on one from surgery. _Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest as he thought. _I'll take a look at how his incision is healing._

After removing the bandage, Drake immediately started scratching. There were red marks all over the paled section of his torso, where he'd clearly been trying to get under the bandage, probably for some time. He scratched until his right side was completely red, and gave a relieved sigh. "I've been waiting for that for almost a week," Drake moaned.

"Can you please lie down so I can look at your stitches?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Yeah, sure." Drake lay on his back.

Aside from the one spot Dietrich had to re-sew, his incision looked like it was healing nicely. No redness, no swelling, no signs of infection. _Having it heal properly is important. He had his operation close to two weeks ago. It still needs to be covered and kept dry, and he needs to avoid putting strain on this whole area. _The new stitch looked like it was healing alright as well. "Maybe . . . wearing that brace all day instead of just when you're in the pool or shower will allow to sit more comfortable. It holds things in place without you doing much of anything."

"I hate that brace. I didn't know it was going to tighten up when it got wet."

"Well, you'll just have to deal with it." _God, that sounded like Dietrich!_

Drake nodded. "Whatever you say, bud. I trust you."

Hudson had surprisingly been quiet up until this point. "Are you allowed to get massages, man? Miranda's been taking a massage therapy class to take up space in her schedule. Maybe she knows something that'll help. Plus, she's a doctor; she knows what to do with incisions."

"You're comfortable with her touching me?"

"Yeah. I trust her. And you, man."

_I don't think Dietrich would trust Miranda, but . . . I'm in charge here. For now._ "If . . . you want to get a massage, go for it," Wierzbowski said. _Oh, Dietrich is going to kill me._

* * *

Dietrich didn't return until shortly before evening chow, and Wierzbowski was locked in a battle in his head about telling her what he did with Drake. _She's going to quit teaching me because of this. She's going to tell me what I did was stupid and unprofessional. Come on, this can't be that bad. Drake wasn't having an emergency. It was just general discomfort, and I did my best to remedy it. Just tell her; it'll be a lot worse if you don't._

The nervous knot in Wierzbowski's stomach was rapidly tightening as he walked down to Dietrich's bedroom. He cursed himself right up until he looked in the doorway, saying, "Dietrich? I have to talk to you."

"About what?" Dietrich asked, not looking up from cleaning her boots.

"Well . . . when you were gone, I had to take care of someone in sick bay-"

Dietrich turned to face him, dark-gray eyes wide with shock. "Who? What happened?"

"Drake. His bandage was making him uncomfortable. I brought him down to sick bay, cut off his bandage, let him scratch all the itches he had. He was also complaining of soreness from keeping the muscles in his back and stomach so stiff. I wasn't fully sure what to do for that, because I can't give him any other pain medication. I'm not even qualified to prescribe anything to him! I said that Drake should try wearing the waterproof brace all day, to protect the incision while allowing him to sit and stand more comfortably, and then Hudson said his girlfriend, who's a doctor, took a massage therapy class for her last semester, so he suggested taking Drake to her." Wierzbowski's heart pounded harder and harder, unsure if he should continue, or let Dietrich give her thoughts on the situation.

There was no expression, no emotion on Dietrich's face. She thought long and hard, before looking at Wierzbowski. "Why did you feel obliged to help Drake?"

"He's my friend, and . . . I wanted to show you that . . . I'm capable of this."

"So, your solution was to coddle him?"

"C-Coddle? Dietrich, he was in pain!"

"He was _whining!_ 'An itch under his bandage.' Who gives a shit?! Seriously, who gives a shit?! Did he have a rash or hives or something?"

"No-"

"Then you had _no reason_ to remove that bandage! He was also given strict orders to not sit in certain ways so that incision can heal properly."

"He was-"

"Uncomfortable. I know. You should've told him to just float in the pool to relax, and you didn't. You thought too hard. I am not letting him just waltz into sick bay every fucking time he's got an itch under his bandage. I can't believe this. No, you can't just go, 'Awww, are you uncomfortable? Come here, I'll kiss your booboo.' Absolutely not. You need to learn when something should be taken care of, and when to say, 'No.' What you did today was stupid."

Wierzbowski felt like Dietrich had taken a knife and was slowly twisting it into his heart. He swallowed, fighting the urge to just retreat into his shell and walk away. "I wanted to help, that's all. It's . . . not . . . just the physical aspect of it. Just letting someone know that you want to help is beneficial, emotionally, and goes a long way. You're yelling at me for no reason. The way I help people is a lot different to how you help people. It doesn't necessarily mean it's wrong. I mean, I didn't do anything that would hurt Drake, or break any rules. I gave him another option, one that's probably better than 'go deal with it, you big baby.' You know he's dealing with shit right now, and . . . I don't want to make it worse."

Dietrich looked down at the floor, and threw one of her boots. She looked frustrated. "I hate you."

"No, you don't. You hate my approach to the problem."

Tears were running down Dietrich's face. Something within her broke. "You're right, I don't hate you, 'Ski. I should be proud of you, because you took the initiative and you didn't just wait for me to come back. You actually tried to do something."

Wierzbowski sat next to Dietrich, putting his arm around her shoulders. He still felt compelled to say, "I'm sorry I upset you. If . . . If it helps, I took advantage of Drake's bandage being off to check his incision. Your textbook helped. He is healing very well. Even the stitch you had to fix looks good."

Wiping her face with her shirt, Dietrich nodded. "OK. Good. Now, what would you have done if it was infected?"

"I-I don't know. I'm not . . . I can't give him any antibiotics."

"Then, I'm gonna have to talk to Apone about giving you permission to do that once I teach you how to pick the medicine, how to prescribe, and how to administer if need be. And you'll need a patch on your BDUs so people don't give you a hard time. Now, you are not going to be making any final decisions when it comes to prescribing medication, because I will have to evaluate your suggestions, understood?"

"Understood."

"Good." Dietrich took a breath. "Looks like that's what I'm doing with you tomorrow."

* * *

_Question: What could have happened if Wierzbowski didn't choose to help Drake?_


	11. Chapter 11

"Honest to God, I'm starving," Spunkmeyer was saying while sitting in the mess hall. "Hope we actually get something edible for breakfast."

"Maybe if you didn't bitch about lunch yesterday and call a hunger strike at dinner over it, you wouldn't be so hungry," Hicks replied.

"That wasn't lunch yesterday, that was an abomination, a culinary sin."

Hicks didn't respond to that. "Wierzbowski, bring your BDU top to the clothing exchange. Dietrich, come with us." He looked across the table at Hudson, who was wincing. "What now?"

"This fruit isn't thawed, man," Hudson said. "Sour, too."

Hicks sighed rubbing his face. "Alright, nothing important." He looked at Drake. "I want your incision looked at today, see if we can get you doing some light exercises."

"Hicks, sir-" Wierzbowski swallowed nervously, raising his hand, "I . . . looked at his incision yesterday." Inwardly, he was bracing himself for someone to tell him he wasn't a medtech, or for Dietrich to yell at him that he shouldn't be saying anything.

Much to his surprise, Hicks's expression didn't change. "What'd you find?"

"It's healing well, but I don't think he's ready for more strenuous exercise yet. I think he should stick to the pool for now."

Hicks nodded a little. "OK. Thanks, Wierzbowski."

"I'm still going to look at him," Dietrich said.

"Alright."

Something in Wierzbowski's chest deflated. _For a moment there, I thought Hicks trusted my word. That's fine. I don't have the experience Dietrich has. _It still hurt, even though it shouldn't.

"I don't want anyone looking at me today," Drake said. "I want to be left alone."

"Too bad," Hicks replied. "Get your ass down to sick bay when we're done here."

After breakfast, Wierzbowski headed back to his bedroom to grab his utility shirt before going down to the clothing exchange room. No one really liked going to the clothing exchange room. It was stuffy and hot and it took forever to get the right size of what needed to be changed out. When he walked in the room, he spotted Hicks sitting on a table, and Dietrich standing next to an ironing board.

"Come on over. We're giving you your medic patch," Hicks said.

"Why?" Wierzbowski asked. _That was a stupid question._

"You're her student, and we're making it official."

Without saying a word, Wierzbowski brought over his shirt. Dietrich took it from him and laid it flat on the ironing board.

"What's the matter?"

Wierzbowski glanced at Hicks. "Nothing. Why?"

"You look upset."

"I'm not upset," Wierzbowski replied. "I've always . . . looked like this."

Hicks nodded, not fully believing him. "Right." He looked at Dietrich, then back at Wierzbowski. "Alright, I wanna make one thing clear with you two, now that I have you both alone." He glared at Dietrich. "Learning advanced first-aid is not in Wierzbowski's contract. He volunteered to do this. I can end this anytime I want. If I hear one more instance of you berating him instead of actually teaching him, this is over. That patch is getting ripped off. Wierzbowski, if you want this, and I mean really want this, I want to see more effort from you. You don't want her yelling at you? Do what you're told." Hicks folded his arms over his chest. "I have enough to do without petty arguments between you guys, or anyone in this unit. Work things out with each other. Only way you're gonna fix this. No more, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Wierzbowski said.

Dietrich's only response was a nod.

"OK." Hicks stood up. "Good luck, you two."

After Hicks left the room, Dietrich glared at Wierzbowski. "You didn't tell him that we talked about this last night?"

"No. You didn't say anything either?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I had no reason to!"

"Alright, well, point is, we already talked about this."

A minute later, Hicks walked back in the room, his head in his hands. "Dietrich, you're needed in the gym."

"What happened?" Dietrich unplugged the iron, setting it on the board to cool down.

"I wish I knew how to explain it."

The three quickly headed down to the gym, entering to find Hudson wedged between two mat-wrapped bars on a crunching device. Dietrich sighed. "Hudson, you do realize you're supposed to only put your legs in there, right?"

"Yeah, man," Hudson replied, sounding like his lungs were on the verge of being crushed. "Could you get me outta here?"

"What the hell were you doing?" Wierzbowski asked, resisting a laugh.

"Spunkmeyer said I couldn't fit in here, man."

Dietrich looked over Hudson, and the machine. "'Ski, can you adjust the bars?"

"Unfortunately, no," Wierzbowski said. "I might be able to pull him out sideways."

"Give it a shot."

"Be careful, man, my shoulders hurt," Hudson moaned.

"You brought this on yourself," Wierzbowski replied. He put one arm under Hudson's belly, and the other under his chest.

"Don't squeeze too hard, 'Ski, might push a fart right outta him," Frost said.

"That is incredibly helpful, Frost." Wierzbowski rolled his eyes, and began trying to pull Hudson toward him.

"Not too fast, man, I'm feeling a mat-burn!" Hudson whined.

Ignoring him, Wierzbowski yanked Hudson free of the bars, and set him in front of Dietrich. Dietrich was still unimpressed with Hudson, but really impressed with Wierzbowski. The look on her face suggested she would praise him when they were in private. "Take off your shirt," she ordered Hudson. "How do your ribs feel?"

"Sore, man," Hudson groaned.

"Rub yourself a little, get blood flowing back to your lower body." Dietrich was about to start roughly massaging Hudson's torso, but Hudson held out his hand.

"Only Miranda can do that, man."

"Then do it yourself. You want everything falling asleep? Fine. I'm trying to help you."

Within five minutes, Hudson was up and walking around with no problem. Dietrich put her kit back over her shoulder, sighing heavily as she and Wierzbowski left the gym. As soon as they were out of earshot, she held out her hand. "You did good, 'Ski. I wouldn't have been able to pull him out that fast."

"Thanks." Wierzbowski hesitated before taking Dietrich's hand. She gripped it in a manner not unlike Vasquez tended to do with Drake, but it wasn't riddled with subdued romantic passion; it was really friendly, as though she was starting to accept Wierzbowski as a closer friend. It made him smile a little.

"It meant we didn't have to deal with too much whining," Dietrich said, letting go of Wierzbowski's hand. "I'm not physically strong. At all."

"Nothing wrong with that," Wierzbowski said. "I think, in the near-future, we'll make a good team."

"I think so, too."

"You're not . . . just saying that because Hicks told us to stop fighting, are you?"

"No. Not just saying it."

"You sure?"

"Honestly, I have nothing to gain by lying to you. Plus, I don't like lying. I've been lied to, in the past."

"So have I. I won't lie to you ever, I promise."

"Promise is a promise and you can't break that."

"I won't."

A small smile on her face, Dietrich led Wierzbowski back to sick bay. "I said I was gonna teach you about administering medicine, right?" She unlocked the door to storage.

"Yeah."

"OK. I'll give you another one of my books. First, I should commend you on not giving Drake any pain medication yesterday. It would've been incredibly unnecessary and it could've been dangerous." Dietrich picked up the bottle of Drake's medicine issued from the hospital. "This stuff is powerful. You've noticed he hasn't been taking it every single day, right?"

"Yeah."

"You'd be able to tell if he was, because he'd be sleeping right now." Dietrich pointed to the label. "I would never give this to someone unless they just had surgery, or a broken bone. We don't have this particular medication in storage. We have to special-order it if the need arises. Now, we do have a lot of milder pain medications for things like headaches and menstrual cramps. Some people have a preference for various name-brands, which is why we have a lot of different brands of pain meds in here. Some people don't." Dietrich put the bottle back on its shelf. "Giving someone their medication isn't hard. It shouldn't be hard. Occasionally, you run into difficulties, and that's something I'll go in-depth with you tomorrow."

Wierzbowski nodded as Dietrich spoke, taking in the information as best he could. Dietrich spent the next hour going over the different medications the base had in storage. She seemed relaxed in the process. There were some meds she could go on about, and others she only spoke briefly on. Eventually, though, her mental energy was gone. She stopped at the end of one aisle of storage, staring into space, tapping her finger against the metal shelf.

It was almost as if someone pressed a "pause" button on her. Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment, waiting for her to continue. Then, he said, "Dietrich? Everything OK?"

"Are you gonna be upset if I say, 'we can continue this tomorrow?'" Dietrich replied.

"No, not at all. What's the matter?"

"I-I don't . . . know. I want to be alone, but I also don't."

"Well, I know we didn't do coffee a few days ago. It's a little late in the day for coffee, so . . . maybe I could take you to lunch? It'd be my treat, and a thank-you. When you're not . . . frustrated, you're a good teacher. I don't think I've ever told you that. I know I've got upset with you, and I shouldn't have. You told me that you didn't want to be throwing me away because I'm the only person who's attempted to be friends with you . . . I shouldn't be throwing you away, either. In a non-romantic sense, I like you. I don't like when you get angry with me, but I like you. I don't find you annoying or unbearable. Hard to deal with sometimes, but it doesn't mean I don't want to try. I'm . . . not going to get something right on the first try, and neither are you, and . . . I don't want this to be a one-sided learning experience for either of us." Wierzbowski wasn't sure how many times he had given a speech similar to this, and he was sure Dietrich was tired of hearing it. Then again, he'd never told her he liked her (in a non-romantic sense, of course).

Much to his surprise, Dietrich grabbed him in a hug. Like Eliza, Dietrich was small enough for Wierzbowski to easily lift her up, but he refused to. She wasn't Eliza, and he reserved tender actions like that for Eliza, and Eliza only. A simple hug from a friend would do no harm. After all, Drake was seen hugging Ferro all the time, and almost everyone knew who Drake's heart really belonged to.

Dietrich hung onto Wierzbowski for a few long minutes before letting go and looking up at him. "I don't know how to thank you, 'Ski."

"Don't bother. I've really never been thanked for much of anything before. Just saying it to me is OK." Wierzbowski looked at his watch. "If we're going to leave for an hour or two, we should do it now, or else we'll get stuck with whatever crap they've got cooking for lunch."

* * *

Wierzbowski considered it an accomplishment that he had gotten Dietrich in a better mood. For once, he got to talk to her about more than just work. When they sat down in a diner close to base, Wierzbowski noticed a waiter setting dishes of pizza in front of customers, and he glanced at Dietrich. "I have to ask, how come you didn't start yelling at Spunkmeyer for his behavior yesterday over lunch?"

"Because, even though I find him almost as annoying as Hudson, he's right. Pineapple does not belong on pizza," Dietrich replied.

"You agreed with him and didn't want to admit it?"

"Yeah. I really didn't need Spunkmeyer getting even more fired up." Dietrich took a sip of her drink. "Can I tell you a secret? I kinda liked Spunkmeyer until rumors started flying that he was underage."

"You mean . . . 'like' as in you had a crush on him?"

Dietrich nodded. "It was his eyes. There are so many different variations of hazel, but his are the prettiest. When he was new, he'd give a lot of very quizzical looks to people, and it was so . . . adorable." She sighed. "Then someone suggested he's not actually eighteen, and I felt . . . dirty and disgusting, and I didn't . . . I didn't bother with even the idea of relationships anymore."

"Surely, you went through the phase of crushes when you were younger."

"I wish I did, but . . . I avoided everyone and they avoided me. There were some boys in my class that I liked. They didn't like me back. I didn't know how to show I was interested. Even when I managed to say something, it never came out right, and everyone looked at me strange." Dietrich looked down at the table. "There was someone who was interested in me, but I wasn't at all interested in him."

"How come?"

"I just wasn't." Dietrich continued to look down. "It's a story I'm not ready to tell you. Let's-Let's move on."

"OK, that's understandable." Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment. "I didn't know what I was doing when it came to relationships. I mean, if I did, my first marriage wouldn't have been a disaster." A weak grin crossed his face. "Truthfully, I'm not ready to give the full details about that story, either. I haven't even told Eliza."

"I thought talking about past relationships with your current partner was a no-no."

"Not in this case. I have no feelings for my ex-wife, and my experience led me down an awful path. In order for . . . anyone to completely understand, I feel like I need to explain everything. Eliza's the one who's curious about it anyway, but it's not because she's suspicious of me."

"Makes sense." Dietrich glanced out the window. "I dunno. Over the years, I've learned that I don't . . . think I'm mentally ready for a relationship."

"How come you asked about love, then, a few days ago?"

"Curious, I guess."

"Got no one around here you're interested in?" Wierzbowski smirked a little.

"Nope."

"Ah. Hey, it's not a bad thing to be curious about that. Hell, it was my own curiosity that led to me interacting more with you."

"Most people would've quit trying after awhile."

Wierzbowski didn't respond right away. He looked at Dietrich, saying, "You know, one thing I've noticed is that . . . you're a bit hard on yourself. I understand it completely, but . . . it's not good to do that all the time. Believe me, I do it all the time, so . . . I'm not telling you to stop right now. It's something we both need to work on. All I ask is that you don't give up. I won't give up if you won't."

Dietrich was silent for a moment, then she held out her hand. "Deal. We'll go through this together." She smiled a little when Wierzbowski took her hand. "I think it's fair to say that . . . in a non-romantic sense, I like you, too. Compared to everyone else in the unit, you have annoyed me the least, and . . . you're the first person in my life to ever call me a friend. You have no idea how much that means to me."

"I can imagine it means the world. I-I know that's a little cheesy-"

"You're right. It does mean the world. It does sound cheesy, but . . . I don't know how else to say it."

* * *

Hudson still looked sore from being wedged in the sit-up assist machine, but he was overall in good spirits, especially when he took Drake to Miranda's apartment in order to get a massage. Wierzbowski accompanied them when they left later that afternoon.

Seeing Hudson kissing Miranda when they entered her apartment sent a dull ache of longing for Eliza into Wierzbowski's chest, and he pondered leaving to go see her. _She might be busy, and it'd be a waste of time. Besides, she promised we'd do something in a couple days. I can wait until then._

Miranda had cleared off her coffee table and covered it with a long, thick beach towel. The whole apartment had a sweet, calming scent from candles set up in the kitchen, which Hudson promptly raided in search of goodies.

"Didn't you just eat?" Wierzbowski asked, watching Hudson open the fridge.

"I had a crappy ration lunch, man," Hudson replied.

"You didn't even ask to go through her fridge."

"It's OK. I gave him permission a long time ago," Miranda said.

"Do I have to get naked for this?" Drake asked.

"No. Leave your socks and underwear on, if you want."

"'If I want.'" Drake snorted. "Deep down, you want to see me naked."

"She's fine with only seeing me naked, man," Hudson said, scooping a generous helping of peanut butter onto a piece of bread.

Miranda gave Drake a look. "Lay down on the table, Mark." She pulled back her long, frizzy hair into a loose ponytail while Drake removed his shirt and trousers. Before starting, Miranda took a brief look at Drake's bandage. "You've been scratching, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Drake replied. "What of it?"

"Stop. You'll rip the bandage and let an infection get in. Oh, take that necklace thing off, too."

Drake held his bone necklace out to Wierzbowski. "Hang onto that, will you?"

"Do you have any marshmallow fluff, honey?" Hudson asked.

"Same cabinet as the peanut butter, Will," Miranda replied, putting her hands on Drake's back, and sticking a pillow under his head. "This is going to hurt at first if you're not used to it, Mark. It'll start to feel good after awhile, so try not to tense anything up."

Everyone looked into the kitchen when a somewhat wet-sounding noise was heard. Hudson was trying to squeeze the very last contents of a honey bottle onto his sandwich.

"Will?"

"Yeah?" Hudson looked at Miranda with a big goofy grin on his face.

"Can you do that a little more quietly?"

"OK. Sorry."

Miranda gave a somewhat annoyed sigh before starting a gentle massage on Drake's back. "Breathe like you normally do . . . Nice and even." She started pressing a little harder, and Drake instinctively tensed up. "Relax your muscles. This is a good pain. We're restoring blood flow to parts of your torso, we're taking out any knots, we're stimulating your nerves. Believe me, Mark, you're going to feel so much better, I promise."

Drake let out a groan, struggling to relax. Once he did, Miranda resumed the massage.

At one point, Miranda looked over at Wierzbowski. "Eliza's got nothing but good things to say about you whenever I talk to her. I'm so glad she's happy with you."

"Well . . . good. I'm happy with her, too," Wierzbowski replied.

Drake suddenly yelped in pain, followed by a loud _pop_. Wierzbowski flinched. As he cursed himself and thought about how Dietrich wouldn't show any emotion when someone else was in pain, period, Drake gave a contented moan. "Ohh . . . that actually felt good," he breathed.

"Told you," Miranda said.

Hudson was partway through his sandwich, pausing once to say, "You doing OK over there, Drake?"

"He's fine, relax."

"Actually, the last time I saw Eliza, we . . . talked about going someplace on Sunday. She-She wanted to invite you and Hudson," Wierzbowski said. "I don't know if she actually talked to you, but . . . I thought I'd ask." _Really? This is all you came here for? To ask a stupid question? You don't even want Hudson and Miranda accompanying you, even though you know them. You want Eliza all to yourself._

"Sunday?" Miranda pressed down hard on a spot close to Drake's bandage. "We can do Sunday, right, Will?"

Hudson shrugged. "I guess so. What exactly are we doing?"

"Eliza suggested miniature golf," Wierzbowski said. _Why are you still talking?! You don't want this!_

Drake moaned again. "Right there . . . Right there . . . Yes. Oh, God, yes."

Wierzbowski sighed. "Maybe we can talk when you're done." _No, we can't! We shouldn't!_

"Might be a good idea," Miranda replied.

"I want one when Drake's done," Hudson said.

"Maybe another day, sweetie. I'm giving Drake the 'full-torso rub.' Might take a little while." Miranda directed Drake to lay on his back. She placed a cool, damp washcloth over his eyes before gently and carefully massaging his face.

Hudson had already made himself comfortable in the apartment, leaving Wierzbowski standing by the door, looking anxious and thoroughly uncomfortable. It was quiet up until Hudson cracked open a beer can. "You know, you can sit if you want, man," he said to Wierzbowski. "Grab something to eat, too."

"You're . . . honest-to-God, the worst houseguest anyone could have," Wierzbowski snapped. "I'd never do what you're doing in Eliza's apartment!"

"Miranda gave me permission, man." Hudson wasn't at all fazed by Wierzbowski's anger. "Is everything OK?"

_This is your chance to stick up for yourself, isn't it?_ "You know what? I don't want you coming along with Eliza and I on Sunday. I don't want anyone coming along with us on Sunday." Wierzbowski's mind came to a sudden halt, realizing what he said wasn't necessary. It sounded way too much like Dietrich. "I-I . . . I'm sorry." He ran out of the apartment, embarrassed.

* * *

_Question: Is it possible that Dietrich's mannerisms and behavior have rubbed off a little on Wierzbowski?_


	12. Chapter 12

_I didn't mean any of that._ Wierzbowski covered his face as he slumped against the wall outside Miranda's apartment. _Why did I get angry with Hudson? I shouldn't have. It wasn't right. I should've been calm in saying I didn't want any company for Sunday. Or I shouldn't have said it at all. _An aching sensation consumed his chest, and he looked down, still holding his head.

His panic died down a little, but that didn't mean he forgave himself. It was the first time in his life he tried to stick up for himself, and it failed. It failed miserably.

"Hey, man."

Wierzbowski looked to his left to see Hudson standing outside the door, appearing concerned.

"What's going on? You kinda . . . exploded in there." Hudson sat next to Wierzbowski. "Everything OK?"

"I . . . don't know."

"Well, I'm not mad at you, man, if that makes you feel better. You never snap at people, so I'm wondering what's bugging you."

"I couldn't figure out how to say that . . . I really don't want you and Miranda coming with me and Eliza on Sunday. It has nothing to do with you. It's . . . I-I want more time with her, alone. A-And I didn't know how to say it because every way I spun it, it sounds like I'm selfish and I want her all to myself."

"If you really don't want us coming, how come you tagged along to ask?"

"I came along to let Dietrich know that this is actually helping Drake."

"Oh. She doesn't think massages work?"

"She didn't specifically say that, but she did say that he should stick to using the pool. I know I'm not . . . ready for anything, but I feel like he's as much my patient as he is hers."

"She's only been teaching you two weeks, man. Takes about eight years for someone to become a legit doctor in the civvie world. She had about, what, eight or more months of training, and the rest she's learned from the field. I mean, it's good you care and you got a passion for this, but you sure as hell aren't ready to be operating on somebody in a combat zone, man." Hudson patted Wierzbowski's shoulder. "You gotta be patient. Dietrich knows more than you, and I'm not saying that to be mean, man. It's the truth. You can't be putting all this pressure on yourself just yet, man. It's not necessary."

Wierzbowski let out his breath. "Hudson, you're right."

"And, about your girlfriend, I actually felt something similar with Miranda when I met up with her after Romania. I mean, my situation was a little different, but, yeah, she was the only person I wanted to spend time with. At the time, I thought that after Spunkmeyer got out of the hospital, we'd be going back to Spain, and I'd never physically see Miranda again. I'm guessing . . . this has something to do with what you mentioned to me a few days ago, about how you're not prepared for a long-distance relationship."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I'm afraid I'm running out of time to make a good lasting impression on Eliza."

"Maybe you already have. You heard Miranda in there. Eliza always says good things about you, even when you're not present. That's a good sign, man."

"Are you upset about what I said regarding . . . not wanting you and Miranda with us on Sunday?"

"Personally, I'm not. I know . . . Drake and Vasquez don't like hanging out with us because we can be really affectionate in public. I don't know how you feel about it-"

"I don't care as long as you're not being embarrassing and obnoxious. Eliza probably thinks it's cute or something."

"Well, I'll talk to Miranda-alone-tell her how you feel, and then I'll get back to you, OK?" Hudson stood up. "Wanna come back inside? I don't want you out here all by yourself, man."

"Is she still working on Drake?"

Hudson peered in the apartment, and gave a somewhat contented moan. "Drake looks like he's in heaven, man."

"So, she's still working on him?"

"Yeah. She can't do the full extent of the chest and belly massage 'cause of his bandage, but it looks like she found a way to make do without."

"I thought you said you hate having your stomach touched. Why do you look jealous?" Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest as Hudson blushed. "You secretly like it, don't you?"

"Only when Miranda does it, man. Shut up." Hudson opened the door further to enter the apartment. "Hey, sweetheart, how's it going?"

"Shush," Miranda whispered. "Doing good. Getting close to done." She glanced at Wierzbowski, and frowned. "Is everything OK?"

"Yeah," Hudson said. "I'll talk to you in private when you're done."

Miranda nodded. After she finished up, she pulled the damp washcloth from Drake's eyes, grinning while saying, "Peekaboo. You feel better?"

"Yeah. How much do I owe you?" Drake smirked.

"Nothing, because you're a friend."

"No. No, no. This was too good for you to get nothing."

"Seriously, Drake, I don't want anything."

"I'll put something in your Christmas card this year." Drake sat up slowly. "Hudson, how come you never told me she did this earlier?"

"You never asked, man," Hudson replied. "You and Wierzbowski head back. I'll catch up."

"Yeah, you'll catch up tomorrow morning," Drake snorted, putting his trousers back on. "Thanks, Miranda. I feel so much better now."

They walked out of the apartment, Drake still tucking his shirt in. "I'm feeling blood return to places I didn't know it could go."

"Great. Now I can tell Dietrich you're not in pain anymore," Wierzbowski muttered.

Drake glanced at him as they stopped in front of the elevator. "How come you blew up on Hudson earlier?"

"I shouldn't have. I was frustrated about how . . . I feel like I'm losing time with Eliza, and I feel like I need to impress Dietrich."

"So it all kinda bubbled over, and you took it out on Hudson." Drake shrugged. "I understand. Everything else is OK, though?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "I guess I'm glad no one's mad at me."

"Why would anyone be mad at you? You're the least annoying person in the whole unit."

"If that's the case, then does no one think I should be standing up for myself?"

Drake paused, and thought while pressing a button in the elevator to go down to the lobby. "No. Everyone should be able to stand up for themselves. Is someone giving you a hard time?"

"No, not . . . a-at least, I don't think so. Just . . . I'm tired of looking passive-"

"Hold up. You do not '_look_' passive, buddy. You look like you can tie a grown man into a pretzel and throw him across town. You _act_ passive. There's a difference." Drake put his hands in his pockets. "Anyway, I get what you mean. I kinda spent your whole life being pushed around and letting people walk over you, and you want that to change, but you can't . . . treat people like crap in order to feel like you have control. In all honesty, that's a last-resort thing. You should only unleash your venom on people if you are backed into a corner, and you feel like you're being treated like garbage. Does it truly help? No. But it does let people know that you have a breaking point when it comes to taking crap. You know none of us intentionally treat you like crap, and we want to see you come out of your shell a little more. It hurts us-It hurts _me_-seeing you feel like your best reaction is to curl up and take it, because I know that's what led you to drinking. You have friends now. You don't need to bottle it up, or turn to the bottle again."

* * *

Dietrich was sitting in front of her nightstand, flipping through one of her textbooks, when Wierzbowski knocked on the door, saying, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Closing the book and putting it back in the exact spot she had it before, Dietrich stood up to answer the door. "What, 'Ski?"

"I . . . came back with Drake. The massage Hudson recommended . . . helped. He feels a lot better. I just . . . thought I'd let you know."

Dietrich leaned against the doorway, looking down at the floor. "What's your point?"

"My point is that . . . it worked and he's not in pain anymore. Hopefully, this'll hold him over until he can take off the bandage."

She sighed. "Well, if he's not in pain anymore . . . good. You were right and I was wrong."

"I wasn't right about anything. I just said . . . we should give this a shot. Look, I know I don't know everything you do, but I don't want to see-"

"You don't want to see anyone in pain. I get it. Nobody does. It's life. Pain happens. You're learning, though." Dietrich's tone softened. "I know it doesn't always look like it, but I'm proud of you."

"Thanks. You're . . . improving on certain things as well, I've noticed. You didn't get angry, and you . . . complimented me." Wierzbowski smiled. "I'm proud of you, too."

Dietrich was still looking down as she smiled as well. "If the door wasn't open, I'd give you a hug."

* * *

Drake had been wrong in saying Hudson would return the next morning; he returned shortly before evening chow, and approached Wierzbowski in the lounge. "I talked to Miranda. Wanna go out in the hall, man?" Hudson asked.

Without a word, Wierzbowski got up to follow Hudson. As soon as they were in the hallway, Hudson leaned against the wall. "I told Miranda what you said, and she's OK with it."

"She's OK with not going anywhere on Sunday?" Wierzbowski didn't feel any weight lift off his shoulders.

"Her and I will do something together, but we won't be joining you and Eliza." Hudson shrugged. "Does that . . . make you feel better?"

"I wish it did. I . . . still feel bad about what I said. Does Eliza know?"

"Miranda's gonna call her about it. I don't know if she's gonna tell her why, but, yeah, she knows."

"I just hope she won't be upset. She's a lot more social than I am, and she actually enjoys hanging around a lot of people. Why, I'll never understand."

"Hey, some people won't be able to understand why you like being by yourself or with one other person, man." Hudson turned when Hicks began yelling for everyone to head down to the mess hall for dinner, and jogged down to be first in line to grab a tray.

"I can't believe this is their definition of 'Italian night,'" Spunkmeyer mumbled. He held up a whole-wheat dinner roll smeared with garlic paste. "Does this look like garlic bread to any of you? Don't you dare say 'yes,' Hudson."

"Spunkmeyer, we're not putting up with this again," Hicks groaned, rubbing his face.

"I don't wanna put up with this, either."

"I'll take your garlic bread, man," Hudson said.

"My God, you really are the human garbage disposal."

Bishop walked into the mess hall, not paying attention to Spunkmeyer's griping. "Wierzbowski, you have a phone call."

"Go ahead and take it," Hicks said.

Wierzbowski followed Bishop to the communication room, and was left alone in front of a phone off its hook. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping he really was alone as he said, "Hello?"

"'Ski, what's going on?" Eliza asked.

A knot abruptly formed in Wierzbowski's stomach. "N-Nothing's going on. Why . . . Why do you ask?"

"Well, Miranda called and told me you blew up in her apartment, saying that you didn't want her and Hudson coming with us on Sunday. Then, Hudson told her that you were just frustrated, and said the only reason you said what you did was because you wanted to be alone with me. Are you _sure_ everything's OK?"

"Are you mad?"

"That wasn't my question, sweetie."

"Honestly, I don't know if everything's OK. I . . . I feel frustrated because I feel like I don't have enough time to . . . make a better impression on you."

Eliza was quiet for a moment. "You couldn't have made a better impression than you did when we first met."

"That was a horrible impression."

"No, no, it wasn't. I'm telling you the truth. Did I not tell you 'I love you' when we went to the abandoned farm a few weeks ago?"

"You did."

"And have I always greeted you with a hug and a kiss every time you come over?"

"Yeah."

"You made your impression. I want to keep dating you."

Wierzbowski had expected Eliza to elaborate, but she left it at that. "So, you're . . . not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad, silly!" Eliza laughed. "I'm disappointed you kinda kicked out Hudson and Miranda for Sunday, but it's OK. There'll be other days."

"It wasn't right for me to do that. I'm really sorry."

Hicks peered in the room. "Time to wrap it up, OK?"

Wierzbowski nodded, loathing the feeling of being pulled away from Eliza again. "E-Eliza, I . . . I-I have to go . . ."

"I'll see you on Sunday, then. I send sweet dreams your way for tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night to come. I love you."

"I love you, too." Wierzbowski put the phone back on its hook, and turned to face Hicks.

"Everything OK?" Hicks asked.

"It was just Eliza."

"I know. Is everything OK with you and her?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Hicks offered a small smile. "I'm glad things are going in the right direction for you."

_I don't quite feel that yet._

* * *

As silence fell over the base for another night, Wierzbowski lay awake again, head swimming in a multitude of thoughts. He found it difficult to relax, despite everyone around him saying everything was OK. _No one else is putting expectations on me. I'm the only one putting extraordinarily high expectations on me. _Even Dietrich wasn't perpetually frustrated with him anymore. If that was true, he knew he was pushing himself too hard.

Every emotion burst within his chest, and he covered his face with his bedsheets as a dull ache spread throughout the inside of his torso while he began to cry.

He was ashamed to know he cried himself to sleep. It wasn't something he had done in a long time. _I just don't know how to explain that I'm not angry with anyone, just me. I'm trying to be better than I was five years ago-six months ago might be more accurate. I haven't changed at all in five years. I went right back to drinking. It was me who decided going home and seeing my family was a good idea._

His thoughts drowned out the lighthearted conversations of everyone around him during breakfast. Afterwards, he went to the armory instead of pestering Dietrich about another lesson. He wanted to be completely alone.

He didn't want to stew in his thoughts, so he pulled his armor from his locker and cleaned it. The others all had writing and rough drawings on their armor. Hudson had a "Death or Glory" skull, and some goofy things like "Contents Under Pressure: Dispose of Properly" on the back. Vasquez had a line from an old Spanish poem on her chestplate. Drake had an Annexer's pawprint on the underside of his. To name a few.

Wierzbowski had nothing thus far. He wasn't a smartass or goof like the others, but, like Drake, he really didn't want anyone asking about what his graffiti meant. He could easily leave his armor blank, but he didn't feel like standing out anymore.

He sat staring at his armor for a long time, digging into his memory for subtle ideas. Nothing subtle came up, especially when he thought back to when Corporal Henley was with the unit. Henley thoroughly loathed Wierzbowski's silence and lack of a sense of purpose. It was no secret that Henley wanted the best out of everyone, and he was hard on those who slacked in effort, especially Wierzbowski. He'd say that he didn't want someone in his unit whose only worth was being flesh and blood, or "Spam in a can."

"Spam in a can" had multiple meanings, though. The most common meaning among the Marines was basically, "You're the only real 'meat' in a metal enclosure,"-usually a ship. That's what everyone else would think "Spam in a can" meant if Wierzbowski put it on his armor. He was the only one who knew it related to his self-worth.

Wierzbowski took his time with writing on his armor. Thinking about Henley brought back a lot of memories when he was new to the unit. He could remember the rest of the guys playing card and dice games at bars, and he vividly remembered Frost saying, "Of course Hudson rolls two ones on die."

"'Of course?'" Hudson asked with a snort.

"You don't know two ones means bad luck?"

Hudson blew a raspberry. "That's superstition, man."

Before his thought finished, Wierzbowski was already making the outlines for a pair of dice with two ones showing on the front of his armor, right where his heart would be. He felt it fit. He had bad luck. He _was_ bad luck.

As he let the paint dry, he glanced up when someone walked into the armory. Frost put a clipboard with a checklist in his mouth before pulling two pulse rifles off their racks, and noticed Wierzbowski from the corner of his eye. "Hey, 'Ski. What're you doing in here?"

"Nothing," Wierzbowski replied. "Do you need something?"

"Not now. Oh, by the way, Drake is getting way too much enjoyment outta stalking people in the pool."

Wierzbowski smirked. "Did he get you?"

"No, but he didn't seem happy that me and Hudson and Spunkmeyer were gonna play basketball while he was in there. We did invite him to play, too, but he wasn't paying attention. I thought he got out without us noticing. A minute later, Spunkmeyer lets out this bloodcurdling scream, and he gets dragged underwater. Then he comes back up and he's pounding on Drake, scratching him and trying to punch him." Frost laughed. "Hudson screamed like a little girl and says, 'I'm not staying in here, man!' and he runs out like someone called 'shark' or something."

"That's Drake's alone-time, I guess," Wierzbowski said.

"Drake's been looking a little better. He's less hunched and hasn't been complaining of muscle pain."

"He got a massage from Hudson's girlfriend yesterday. He had more of a spring in his step as we were coming back from it."

"I'll be honest, I hated seeing him so miserable since his surgery. I did see him when he was still in the hospital, but I think that was right after they gave him some more pain meds and he was only a fourth conscious. He might not even remember I saw him."

"Probably not. It's nice you care, even though . . . he's not so sure anyone does care." _I understand that a little too well._

Frost's only response was a nod. "Hard to tell him he's a good guy when his brain's telling him he's not. Hope he overcomes that."

Once the paint on his armor had dried, Wierzbowski put it back in his locker, and left the armory, a tight and heavy feeling hanging in the pit of his stomach. Despite a part of him wanting to talk to Drake, another part-a bolder part-wanted to fight through this on his own. _I don't have what Drake has. I can do this._ He lifted his head, but instead of feeling more confident, he felt more uncertain.

* * *

_Question: Why might Drake not be the right person for Wierzbowski to talk to?_


	13. Chapter 13

On Sunday, the humidity was close to uncomfortable as Wierzbowski and Eliza paid to spend the next hour or so at the miniature golf course overlooking Chesapeake Bay. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun was beating down on everyone. It didn't come as a surprise that not a lot of people were out, especially since the course was largely uncovered. Heat radiating off the concrete and some of the obstacles was clearly visible.

It took all of five minutes for sweat to appear on Wierzbowski's shirt, and his utility trousers quickly became unbearable. Leaving base in his PT shorts was a definite no-no, so he'd have to suffer for the day. He glanced at Eliza, and smirked. "I could use your putter as a piece of silverware. Is that the smallest one they make?"

"Aside from the children's sizes . . . this actually isn't the smallest one." Eliza grinned. "Is yours the biggest one they make?"

"Possibly. I wasn't paying that much attention." Wierzbowski gestured toward the course's first hole. "Ladies first." He remained silent as Eliza took her turn, and then asked, "You still wish Hudson and Miranda were here?"

"Little bit. Do you?"

"I'm not sure. Then again, I can't imagine Hudson would be good company in this heat. He'd be draining the juice bar and going back and forth between that and the restroom."

Eliza laughed. "Miranda loves him to death, though. I'm so glad they have each other. They're adorable. Come winter, she'll want to be snuggled up with him all day."

"We might not be here in the winter, though," Wierzbowski sighed.

"You can take leave for Christmas, right?"

"If we're not on a mission, yeah."

"I know . . . you probably don't want to go back to your family, so you're perfectly welcome to come to D.C. and spend Christmas with me. I won't make you uncomfortable or accuse you of things you didn't do."

Wierzbowski blushed a little, grinning. "I'll take you up on that offer, and I'll make sure to get you something nice."

"I think the best gift would be just you showing up." Eliza kissed Wierzbowski's cheek when he leaned over to take his shot.

Wierzbowski's blush deepened. If the whole day could be like this, that would be perfect. He kissed her cheek as well, whispering, "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you more than life itself."

"If you love me that much, you'll give me a good game."

"What if I let you win?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You got a point, there. Still, if you win, you pick where we go for lunch."

"I've picked for every date. You should pick regardless if you win or lose."

"I can never decide, though."

As they moved through the course, the holes gradually got harder, and Eliza ended up losing her ball in a water trap. She pulled a net off one of the fences, prompting Wierzbowski to say, "I'll do that for you."

"I got it, I got it, sweetie." Eliza reached the net over the fence, fishing around for her ball, which kept floating toward the farthest end of the pool.

"I can get that for you," Wierzbowski muttered. "My reach is longer than yours. You're going to fall and hurt yourself."

"I've done this before, 'Ski." Eliza climbed onto the fence in an attempt to extended her reach with the net.

Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest. "Sweetheart-"

"I almost got it, 'Ski!"

"Are you sure?"

Eliza kept straining and reaching, to no avail. She sighed as she stepped off the fence, and handed the net to Wierzbowski. "OK, you try."

"Thank you." Wierzbowski reached the net back out into the water, and tried to wave the ball within reach by pulling water towards him.

"Do you need help?" Eliza asked.

"No. Almost . . . there . . . Got it." Wierzbowski pulled the ball up, a small smile on his face. "You're welcome."

Eliza smirked. "Thank you, 'Ski." She reached up to pinch his cheek.

The two were fairly even in points when they approached the last hole. It wasn't a very long course, but the heat made it feel like somewhat of an eternity. Wierzbowski looked off in the distance to see dark clouds building up. Sweat continued to pour off him in waves. _Probably should've grabbed water bottles when we got here._

He turned around to see Eliza hadn't taken her turn yet, and he noticed she was a little pale. "Everything OK?" He walked over to her. "How about . . . you sit down. I'll get some water." He dashed back to the small building where they got their putters and golf balls. _She'll be OK after some water. She needs to get inside and cooled down before heat exhaustion sets in. Oh, what am I thinking-?! _Cursing to himself, Wierzbowski knew Eliza's health was more important than finishing the game. Breezing past some golfers lazily making their way through the course, Wierzbowski returned to the eighteenth hole to pick up Eliza (literally), and run with her back to the start of the course.

The last time Wierzbowski had run with someone in his arms was in a combat mission, running in and out of a hospital compromised by a gas attack. He carried out patients and doctors choking to death on it. They writhed and coughed and silver fluid streaked with blood was spilling from their mouths. He was protected by a gas mask, but it didn't stop him from experiencing a suffocating feeling.

The air was saturated with the silver flower gas, enough to where the mask wasn't filtering in a lot of oxygen, giving the Marines little time before needing to escape the building. Wierzbowski could feel less and less air in his lungs. Sooner or later, he'd be drawing in nothing.

At least it didn't get to that point, but the pain-contorted faces and awful hacking sounds from the people he carried were forever etched in his mind.

Wierzbowski carried Eliza off the golf course, and across the street to a small diner. He walked inside to be instantly blasted with cold from the building's air conditioner. Eliza stirred a little, adjusting her grip around Wierzbowski's neck. She was still somewhat pale, but color was faintly starting to return to her face, making Wierzbowski breathe a sigh of relief.

It didn't take too long for Eliza to start looking and feeling better once she had some water. Wierzbowski felt better, too, both from the water and the fact that Eliza was OK. "I'm sorry I cut that short," he said.

"No, don't be sorry," Eliza replied. "I think I was about to pass out, anyway."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"You could've picked somewhere . . . a bit more temperate," Eliza whispered. "It's very cold in here."

Without hesitation, Wierzbowski put his arm around her. "Stay close to me, then." He looked down at her with a smirk. "Aside from you almost fainting, today's been fun so far."

"Yeah. Do you . . . feel better about the idea that there'll be a time where we won't see each other for awhile?"

"I'm getting there," Wierzbowski said. "I feel less frustrated . . . about making a good impression on you. Y-You're right. I already did make a good impression on you, and . . . if you say that I made the best impression I could, I should believe you."

Eliza nuzzled his cheek. "You're the sweetest, 'Ski."

Grinning, Wierzbowski put his cap on Eliza's head. "You're very sweet, too."

After a quick lunch, the two headed back outside to see the clouds from earlier were almost right on top of them. They kept walking, looking for other things to do, as the rain began to fall, gently at first, and then fell harder and harder and the dark clouds moved over the city.

Wierzbowski kept Eliza close to him, in a futile attempt to keep the rain off her. They quickly dashed under a bus stop's canopy, their shirts completely soaked. "I'm sorry about that," Wierzbowski said.

"What for? You don't control the weather," Eliza laughed, flopping Wierzbowski's cap back on his head. There was no one else inside the stop, so she took Wierzbowski's head to kiss him. Keeping the kiss going, they slowly sat down on the bench, then held each other tightly.

The world continued to move around them. For once, Wierzbowski didn't care. The kiss ended for a brief moment. Despite being wet with both sweat and rain, Wierzbowski hugged Eliza, and nuzzled her forehead. This was on par with the night in the hay loft of the abandoned farm. It was perfect, and Wierzbowski didn't want it to end. He initiated another kiss, feeling Eliza wrap her arms around his neck before pressing closer to him. His heart seemed to flutter against his ribcage. The feeling of lightness in his chest was dizzying, but addicting, like an adrenaline rush.

Eventually, they returned to reality. Eliza smiled up at Wierzbowski. "If you had to leave tomorrow, I will dream about this moment, every night, until you return."

"If I had to leave tomorrow, I'd dream about this moment-and the one at the farm-every night until I could see you again. God, that is very cheesy, but . . . it sounds good." Wierzbowski laughed. "I love you."

Eliza gave him a mischievous grin. "I love you more."

"I love you more than life itself." Wierzbowski grinned as well, then frowned when he felt Eliza shiver in his arms. "I'll take you home. You should get warm and dry; I don't want you to catch a cold."

"You're adorable when you fuss and worry, 'Ski. Almost makes me want to get sick so I can enjoy your bedside manner." Eliza laughed.

"Don't say that," Wierzbowski sighed. "Then it might happen."

* * *

Eliza offered for Wierzbowski to stay at her place for a little while to get warm and dry himself, but he decided to head back to base. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but he shivered a little after walking inside to the air conditioning.

After getting changed into fresh, dry clothes, Wierzbowski dropped his wet uniform off at the laundry room before joining the rest of the unit in the lounge.

"You got lipstick on your face, 'Ski," Spunkmeyer said.

Suddenly embarrassed, Wierzbowski touched his right cheek, feeling a slight stickiness. He pulled his hand away to reveal there was, indeed, pale-pink lipstick on his face. As he left the lounge, he heard everyone laughing. _It's not at me. It's at something else, right? _He returned to the lounge after wiping his face with water.

"So, how'd you do today?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"What do you mean?" Wierzbowski replied.

"With your girlfriend."

"Fine." Wierzbowski glanced at the couch, noticing Drake was sprawled out and asleep on it. "Is he OK?"

"He's fine, man," Hudson said. "Just . . . laid down and conked out. It is warm in here, man."

"Speaking of sleeping, 'Ski, when're you gonna spend the night with the girlfriend?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"That's none of your business," Wierzbowski said.

"You gotta move forward before you lose her, dude," Frost added.

"We're moving along fine."

Spunkmeyer began making chicken noises. "You are a _huge_ coward!"

Everyone else would've taken that as a joke. Having been called a coward by his former corporal, that stung bad for Wierzbowski.

"Sooner or later, make a move. You can't let this go, 'Ski."

Wierzbowski noticed Dietrich looking at him from the other side of the lounge. She stood up, closing her book, and walked over to one of the vending machine. She glanced at Spunkmeyer while waiting for the machine to give her a water bottle. After taking the water, Dietrich turned, and whacked Spunkmeyer on the back of the head with it. "_Grow up!_"

"Ow, that really hurt-" Spunkmeyer's face paled when he saw Dietrich glaring down at him. "W-What'd I do?"

"You're a slimy little piece of shit, you know that? You keep picking on 'Ski, and I'll beat you till your whole head's black and blue! That goes for all of you!"

The whole room was silent, aside from Drake's snoring. Without a second thought, Dietrich stormed over to whack the bottle on Drake's exposed belly. He instantly curled up, giving a shout in pain. "Hey, what was that for?!"

Dietrich didn't answer. She briskly walked out of the lounge, looking shaky with adrenaline.

Now the room was silent. Wierzbowski glanced at everyone, seeing Spunkmeyer rubbing the back of his head, and Drake lifting his shirt to check for a bruise. Sighing, Wierzbowski went out into the hallway, following Dietrich.

She disappeared into sick bay, clearly looking for someplace to hole herself up in. Before she could slam shut the door to med storage, Wierzbowski held it open. Tears were streaming down Dietrich's face, and she wasn't resisting Wierzbowski. Instead of trying to close the door, she let go, and covered her face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything I said! Not anymore!"

Closing the door, Wierzbowski sat on the floor with Dietrich, hugging her and letting her cry in his shoulder.

Dietrich sobbed. "I just got so angry and I didn't want to hold it back. You guys pick on each other all the time and it doesn't mean anything-"

"Spunkmeyer's comment about me being a coward actually hurt. Henley called me a damn coward all the time. However, you didn't need to hit him over it, and you certainly didn't need to hit Drake." Wierzbowski rubbed Dietrich's shoulder. "I do understand that you were angry, and once in awhile, it gets to a point where it explodes. That kinda happened to me a few days ago."

"You're the first person to not get mad at me when I blow up."

"I'm not mad. I definitely think you should apologize to Spunkmeyer and Drake, but I'm not going to scold you."

Dietrich didn't pull herself from Wierzbowski's arms. She gave a quiet sigh, keeping her head on his chest.

A minute later, Wierzbowski said, "We should get back to work."

"Little bit longer," Dietrich said, softly. "It's really cold in here, and I left my blouse in my room."

"Alright." _I might need someone to hug once in awhile when I have to be away from Eliza. _Wierzbowski continued to rub Dietrich's back, gently. She was indeed cold-he could feel goosebumps on her arms-but he also felt she just wanted someone holding her at the moment, and that was OK. "Do you want me to go get your blouse?"

"I can get it. Soon. I can feel you were out in the sun for awhile."

"Yeah. Eliza and I went golfing. She almost passed out, though. I got her inside and hydrated, though."

"No heat exhaustion?"

"No. I took good care of her."

"Well, then, I'm proud of you." Dietrich grinned a little, and then it faded. "I really am proud. Someone's proud of me, and I'm proud of them. It's a good feeling."

Wierzbowski nodded, not loosening his grip on Dietrich. They remained alone in the medical storage room for some time, and Dietrich had calmed down significantly since storming out of the lounge. It had been a very calm and peaceful moment, and Wierzbowski didn't regret it.

When they stood up to leave sick bay, Dietrich looked up at Wierzbowski. "Would you be upset if I asked you to do this again?"

"No. I . . . was about to ask the same thing. I know that in a few months, we'll be heading to a new base, far away from here, and . . . I think when I'm away from Eliza, I'll . . . I-I mean, I'm not cheating on her-"

"You want to feel like someone cares."

"Yeah. I'm not . . . looking for a 'substitute romantic relationship.' Just . . ."

"I know what you mean." Dietrich nodded a little. "You won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"No." Wierzbowski shook his head. "Not even to Drake and Hudson."

Dietrich sighed. "I should go apologize to Drake and Spunkmeyer." She looked up at Wierzbowski again. "Thank you. You know, for . . . understanding and not getting mad."

"Not a problem." _I just have to remember how she reacted to Spunkmeyer is not how I should react when I feel I'm at a snapping point. How should I react, though? That's the big question, here._

* * *

Wierzbowski didn't see Dietrich apologizing, but he heard the others talking about it. No one could make sense of it, up until Drake said, "Who cares if it makes sense? She did it, and that means she's changed a little. Be proud of her."

That made Wierzbowski smile a little. Eventually, Dietrich might be able to trust them, and they'd be able to trust her. It felt like a far-fetched hope, but right now, it didn't seem impossible anymore.

Wierzbowski didn't see Dietrich again in the lounge that night. He was tempted to find her and invite her down, but he knew she didn't particularly enjoy it. She went down on her own terms, and he had to respect that.

The casual conversations stopped when Hicks walked into the room, saying, "Alright, can I have everyone's attention, please? You, too Hudson. Thank you."

"Are we in trouble, man?" Hudson asked.

"No. Tomorrow, a photographer from one of the USCM magazines is gonna be here. They're doing something about daily life on bases, and they picked us to be one of their focuses. You guys do not have to be dressed up and fancy-they want you to be casual, and . . . as normal as you can possibly be. That does not mean get wild and crazy-one of you, wake up Drake, please?" Hicks glared at Drake, who had fallen asleep against Hudson, and he didn't continue until Drake had been gently shaken awake. "Thanks, Hudson. Basically, be on your best behavior, but, like I said, be somewhat yourselves. They want to show that the Marines are capable of having fun, but, please, dear God, Hudson, don't walk up to the photographer with fucking straws up your nose. That's childish and embarrassing. Again, be casual, but not embarrassing, got it?"

"Got it, man," Hudson said.

"That goes for everyone else, too. Alright, go back to what you were doing." Hicks walked over to one of the vending machines, sliding a dollar in to grab a granola bar.

Hudson glanced at everyone. "We've never been put in the magazines before, man."

"Gee, I'll bet you're the reason why," Drake said, yawning before settling back into the couch.

"Hey, I had one mishap last time we had a picture taken, man."

"Yeah. 'One mishap.'" Drake snorted. "You looked cross-eyed and your mouth was hanging open."

"He had all sorts of things wrong that day," Frost laughed.

"Well, I won't do anything wrong tomorrow," Hudson said.

Everyone burst into laughter. "Yeah, that'll happen!" Spunkmeyer crowed.

"I'll bet you he'll fuck up as soon as the photographer walks through the gates!" Frost said.

"Bets already?" Drake pulled out his wallet.

"Absolutely not, Drake," Hicks called from across the room. "Put it back. I said 'best behavior,' didn't I?"

* * *

_Question: How does Wierzbowski and Dietrich's relationship mirror that of Drake and Ferro?_


	14. Chapter 14

Despite being told to be casual, some of the Marines were a tad nervous around the photographer. None of them expected him to be there at the table with them come breakfast the next morning. He waved to them as they sat down, and said, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Sergeant Julian. Nice to see you all looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today."

Hudson and Spunkmeyer looked at each other, resisting a laugh. "Oh, we're bushy, man," Hudson giggled.

"Grow up, you two," Hicks said.

"Anyway," Julian continued, ignoring the immaturity, "I just wanna let you know that this is not a formal photoshoot. This is for an article on everyday life on base. Some of you might be interviewed and asked some questions that'll be included within the article. Is anyone here not comfortable with being interviewed?"

Drake, Vasquez, and Dietrich all raised their hands.

"I still want you three to be respectful, OK?" Hicks said. "Dietrich, you're our medtech, you will be interviewed."

"Fuck," Dietrich whispered.

"Now that's settled, when I'm taking pictures, I want you all to just pretend I'm not here, alright?" Julian said.

Wierzbowski glanced at Drake, who looked like he wanted to hide under the table. While Julian got his camera set up to take some photos of the Marines eating breakfast, Hudson walked around to Drake and Wierzbowski, putting his arms around their shoulders, and hugging them.

"Smile, man," he said, a big goofy grin on his face.

Wierzbowski gave a slightly nervous smile, while Drake maintained an emotionless expression, as Julian turned his focus to the three.

"'Best friends' on 'three,' man! One, two, three!" Hudson squeezed Drake and Wierzbowski harder.

"You, with the cap and bones-what's your name?" Julian asked, lowering the camera.

"Drake." Drake didn't look at all happy he was being singled out.

"Can you smile? Just a little bit?"

"I'd rather eat soap."

Hicks glared in their direction. "Drake, behave, and do what he tells you."

"I know what'll make him smile, man." Hudson leaned in to whisper to Drake. "Remember that time I almost got stuck in one of those giant tires we try to flip in the exercise yard? I thought climbing in it and having you guys roll me around the yard was a good idea?"

"You didn't even get all the way in," Wierzbowski added. "Your bottom half was wedged in, though."

A smile broke out across Drake's face, prompting Julian to take the picture.

Julian grinned. "Much better! Thanks, um-"

"Hudson, man." Hudson smirked.

"Yes. Thank you, Hudson."

"No problem, man."

* * *

The crew quickly became eager to have their pictures taken in an informal way. In the loading bay, Spunkmeyer was practically dragging Julian over to the powerloader. "Lookit, she's my pride and joy, you gotta get some pictures in that magazine. Oh, and make sure you spell my name right-" Spunkmeyer plucked Julian's notepad and pen from him, "It's just 'spunk' and then M-E-Y-E-R. One word."

"I can see it on your jacket, son," Julian said. "Can I have my notes back?" He looked over at Wierzbowski, who was carrying two gas cans over to the APC. Without hesitation, he snapped a photo of Wierzbowski passing the cans off to Crowe inside the vehicle.

It was difficult to pretend Julian wasn't there. Wierzbowski glanced at the photographer as he examined the photo, and then looked at Crowe. "He's . . . a little intrusive."

"That's his job," Crowe said, shrugging. "At least Spunkmeyer loves the attention."

"Good for him," Wierzbowski sighed. "Do you need anything else?"

"That should be all for now. I'm just refueling and doing a quick check on everything. If I do need anything, I'll holler for you, mate. Thanks."

Wierzbowski left the APC, catching Julian approaching him. "Can I get your name, Private?" Julian asked.

"Yeah, it's Wierzbowski."

"Polish descent?"

"Yeah. It's an interesting story, actually. My ancestors fled Poland right at the start of World War Two and resettled in Britain. I don't know the full story, but that's the basis of what I heard over the years."

"Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?"

Wierzbowski thought for a moment. "Um . . . sure, go ahead."

"Thanks. What's your job within the unit?"

"I'm technically just an infantryman. In combat, I'm Drake's spotter and partner-he's one of the smartgunners. On base, I do the heavy lifting alongside Spunkmeyer, and recently, I started picking up some medical training from our medtech, Dietrich."

"So, you do a little bit of everything. Nice. What made you . . . want to enlist in the Marines?"

_Oh, no._ "Well . . . I . . . I hit a . . . I was . . . I was in a rough spot. Without going into detail, I wasn't happy with where I was, and I needed a change. A big change. I needed to leave home and . . . figured the Marines weren't a bad decision. I'd learn more about myself and perhaps change the things I really didn't like about . . . who I was at the time. I trained with the main British divisions in basic, and once I graduated, I gave my superiors the OK to send me to American or Aussie squadrons if they needed an extra man. I think I needed to see the world in order to see more of myself, if-if that makes any sense. I got sent to this squad, and I don't regret it in the slightest. These are some of my best friends. You saw Hudson with me and Drake this morning. I wouldn't have met them and made the space in my heart for them if I didn't make this choice."

"How long is your contract?"

"Eight years."

"Is there anyone back home you miss?"

"Not . . . Not particularly. A few weeks ago, however, I met a girl here in D.C., and we've started dating. She's the sweetest human being you've ever met, and I love her to death."

Julian smiled. "So, just a girlfriend, then?"

"When we get transferred to a new base, I will miss her terribly. Yeah, she's the only one I miss right now."

"Well, thanks for taking the time to answer. I'll leave you to your day."

Wierzbowski watched Julian walk away before heading down to sick bay to see if Dietrich needed anything. He was honest, yet didn't spill too many uncomfortable details in his "interview." _The entire Marine Corps doesn't need to know I was an alcoholic. They don't need to know I had a failed marriage. They don't need to know . . . well, the whole truth. I gave him the watered-down version, and that's what everyone will see._

Dietrich was sitting at a desk in one of the exam rooms, clearly trying to avoid Julian. She glanced at Wierzbowski, not saying a word as he walked in. "Hi."

"Hi." Wierzbowski sat next to her. "I got to talk to that photographer."

"And?"

"He . . . asked, you know, 'why did you join the Marines,' and . . . I was honest without delving into the . . . awful details. No one needs to know the truth. Only people who need to know are those I really care about."

"Yeah, I don't want to talk to him. I don't know how."

"All you really have to do is just answer his questions. Keep it somewhat short and sweet, I guess."

Sighing, Dietrich nodded. "I won't have a choice, so . . . I'll keep it short and sweet and won't embarrass myself. Or you. Or anyone else."

"Thanks." Wierzbowski offered a small smirk. "Even if you get asked about Hudson?"

Dietrich thought for a moment. "What's the nicest way to call someone a fucking moron without actually saying 'fucking moron?'"

Before Wierzbowski could answer, there was a sudden _bang_ coming from the loading bay, followed by sirens blaring.

"Shit." Dietrich grabbed her first-aid kit, and tossed a spare kit to Wierzbowski before sprinting down to the loading bay. Ferro and Vasquez were opening the bay doors to wave out the black smoke pouring from the APC. Crowe was laying next to the dropship, covered in soot, burn marks, and blood. The powerloader had tipped onto the APC, and Spunkmeyer was crawling away from it, slightly dragging his right leg behind him. He was bruised, bloody, and also covered in soot. Julian was near the hallway leading to the living quarters, in shock.

"What happened?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I don't know!" Julian shouted. "Something in the APC blew up and the force was enough to tip over the powerloader!"

Dietrich was running over to Crowe, and Wierzbowski took Spunkmeyer, who looked dazed. "Holy shit . . ." Spunkmeyer moaned, "Wha- . . . What happened?"

"I asked the same thing. Hold still." Wierzbowski began muttering to himself while checking Spunkmeyer's vitals. His pulse was elevated, which wasn't a surprise. Before he could wrap a blood pressure monitor around Spunkmeyer's arm, a spasm seized Spunkmeyer's torso, and he coughed before vomiting a grayish substance, streaked with black soot. "Get it out. Get it all out," Wierzbowski said. So far, it seemed like Spunkmeyer was in shock, with minor wounds. He breathed in smoke and soot, but that was easy to treat. _I need to get him on oxygen, but he needs to keep throwing up and getting this out of his system. I should also make sure he's not concussed-_

"'Ski, how's he doing?" Dietrich called.

"Trying to get his blood pressure!"

"Crowe's got broken ribs and second-degree burns! I need to get him to sick bay now!"

Cursing under his breath, Wierzbowski looked Spunkmeyer in the eye. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Spunkmeyer breathed.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Wierzbowski held up three fingers.

"Uh . . . three. I think . . . I think I'm OK." Looking away from Wierzbowski, Spunkmeyer began coughing and hacking hard enough to make his face turn red under the layer of soot.

"Did you fall from the loader?"

"I bailed." Spunkmeyer turned to spit soot on the floor. "I jumped out. She tipped . . . I jumped." He struggled to collect his thoughts. "Is Crowe OK?"

"He's got broken bones," Wierzbowski replied. "Put your arm around my neck. I'm taking you to sick bay. Get you water and oxygen." Scooping up Spunkmeyer, Wierzbowski turned to Dietrich. "I'll grab a stretcher, and I'll be back ASAP!"

"_Hurry up!_" Dietrich shouted.

_Give him water, oxygen, let him rest. It's all minor cuts and bruises. We can take care of that later. _Wierzbowski ran with Spunkmeyer down to sick bay, picking an empty room and laying him on the bed before filling a paper cup with water. He let Spunkmeyer drink and spit as he readied an oxygen tank, then fit the mask to Spunkmeyer's face. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Weakly, Spunkmeyer gave him a thumbs-up, then lay back on the pillow to breathe from the tank.

Wierzbowski pushed past other medics to get to the supply room. Dietrich had, at one point, showed him where the stretchers and gurneys were kept. His mind was racing to where he was struggling to remember.

They were past the aisles of medicine. Wierzbowski grabbed a stretcher, tucking it under one arm as he sprinted out of sick bay. As soon as he set it on the ground, Dietrich began carefully moving Crowe onto it. "Get his legs, 'Ski."

Crowe's trousers were torn, filthy, and bloody. Dietrich had done her best to bandage his wounds, but blood continued to soak through.

"He's got shrapnel in his legs," Dietrich said. "I'm taking it out, and setting his ribs. You, take care of Spunkmeyer when we get Crowe in surgery."

"Yes, ma'am," Wierzbowski replied.

"On 'three,' lift up your end. One . . . two . . . three! _Come on, move it!_" Dietrich shouted as they jogged down to sick bay. She kept yelling at people to get in the operating room as they went past other medics. Eventually, someone took over Wierzbowski's position on Crowe's stretcher, as he wasn't allowed in the operating room. He was left in the hallway, watching Dietrich give orders before disappearing deeper into the complex.

The sirens had died down, and the hallway fell silent. The last several minutes had been a blur, like maybe they didn't happen at all. Walking in on Spunkmeyer taking oxygen from a tank reaffirmed that those minutes indeed happened.

Wierzbowski sat down, facing Spunkmeyer. He took a deep breath, struggling to process what just happened.

Spunkmeyer gestured that he needed to throw up again. Without a second thought, Wierzbowski pulled the mask off, and held a small trash can so Spunkmeyer could vomit out more of the sooty mixture. When he finished, he looked exhausted, and less shocked. "I don't want the mask," he said, breathing somewhat heavily.

"Are you sure?" Wierzbowski asked.

Spunkmeyer nodded, and coughed. "How's Crowe?"

"I think he'll be alright. Dietrich has him in surgery right now. Setting his ribs and taking the shrapnel out. He'll definitely be out of commission for awhile."

"Jesus, first time it's not Drake being the man down." Spunkmeyer laughed, but broke off coughing. He spit into a cup.

"You, be nice. Drake's gone through a lot of crap in his life."

"I was making a joke, 'Ski. I know Drake's had a hard time. I think we all have."

Wierzbowski rubbed his face. "Right. I'm sorry."

There was silence for a few minutes, aside from voices over the PA system. Spunkmeyer continued to cough and spit into a cup, and threw up for a third time into the trash can. After that, he looked even more worn out. Wierzbowski began bandaging some of Spunkmeyer's wounds, sometimes pausing to make sure no bones had been broken.

"I think I twisted my knee," Spunkmeyer said.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Wierzbowski sighed.

"Crowe needed yous more than me. But, yeah, when I jumped out of my loader, I kinda didn't loosen all the straps of my harness, and my leg turned a little awkwardly. It's my right one."

Wierzbowski took a breath before touching Spunkmeyer's right knee. "It hurts?"

Spunkmeyer grunted. "Yeah. Just . . . feels like everything inside it got ripped up."

"It does feel swollen. I think someone else should look at it. Hopefully, all you'll need is a brace and crutches for a couple of weeks." Wierzbowski smirked. "Crowe won't be the only man down, and you can't keep making jokes about Drake; he'll have every right to make jokes about you."

"Yeah, yeah." Spunkmeyer grinned, then winced in pain as he tried sitting up straighter.

"I can give you a light dose of pain medication, but that's it until someone has a better look at you."

* * *

Major Percival stepped back toward Apone and Hicks, arms folded over his chest. "Only thing I'm glad about is that this was an accident and not sabotage," he said. "How are your two Marines?"

"Both being treated in sick bay," Hicks replied. "Private Spunkmeyer has a twisted knee, minor cuts and bruises. Private Crowe has busted ribs, cuts, bruises, second-degree burns. They'll be out of action for . . . at least a month, sir. I don't think the APC is salvageable; we'll have to put in an order for a new one."

"Well, it's a good thing you're stationed in D.C. We should have one sent to you in less than five business days. Your powerloader looks good, though."

"I still want it looked at. We don't need another accident."

"Did your guys figure out what caused the explosion, Major?" Apone asked, chewing on his cigar.

"Age-damaged fuel line. Leaked gasoline close to the ignition."

"Jesus," Hicks muttered. "Crowe got fucking lucky."

"It's a good thing your entire squad wasn't in there," Percival added.

"Yeah." Hicks let out his breath. "Alright, I'll make sure all the reports are sent to Russell's office."

The rest of the unit, save for Spunkmeyer and Crowe, were sitting in one of the briefing rooms near sick bay. Dietrich looked half-asleep, and Wierzbowski gently nudged her to keep her awake. "Are you OK?" he whispered.

Dietrich nodded, and patted Wierzbowski's knee when she was certain no one was looking. "You did good. I'm proud of you," she whispered back.

Hicks walked into the room, putting a cigarette in his mouth. "Dietrich, how're Crowe and Spunkmeyer?"

"Crowe's in recovery. I need a to make a prescription for Spunkmeyer, and he should be out soon."

"OK, thank you." Hicks glanced at the others. "Alright, I just got done talking with the major. His team said that what happened with the APC was an accident, and we have to get a new one. The powerloader should be fine, but I want it checked over by a specialist. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," everyone mumbled at the same time.

"Good. Dietrich, go fill Spunkmeyer's prescription. Everyone, dismissed." Hicks left the room, trailed by Dietrich.

Of course, Hudson was the first to speak. "Real freak accident, man."

"Are Spunkmeyer and Crowe gonna be OK?" Drake asked.

"They'll be out of commission for almost a month," Wierzbowski replied. "Crowe's got broken ribs and burns, and Spunkmeyer badly twisted his knee jumping out of the powerloader."

"We should do something nice for them, man," Hudson chirped.

"Yeah, like not eat all the peanut butter cookies in the vending machines." Drake rolled his eyes.

"Oh, grow up," Vasquez sighed.

"Spunkmeyer will likely be out in the next hour," Wierzbowski said over the others, "but don't be a bunch of pains, because he's been loaded up with medication."

He expected someone to point out that he wasn't a medtech, but the silence told him that they were listening to him. A small sense of pride lifted in his chest.

Crowe would be staying in sick bay overnight for observation. Spunkmeyer left sick bay with a stabilizing brace and crutches, but needed some help as he was somewhat loopy from the medicine Dietrich gave him. The day seemed to wind down quicker than most; people went to bed early. It didn't come as a surprise that Julian didn't get very much done in terms of his project. He'd still be there the next day. All the squad could do was pray nothing exploded tomorrow.

For Wierzbowski, the events of the day still felt like a blur in time. They seemed unreal, like maybe he had passed out and had a strange dream. Was that how stuff like this felt to Dietrich?

Shortly before lights-out, he headed down to her bedroom. He was a little surprised to see her looking a tad more relaxed, sitting up in bed with a book instead of medical papers. "Do you . . . mind if I ask you something?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Sure. What is it?" Dietrich glanced at him.

"About today . . . everything . . . felt a bit like a blur, like I'm not sure it happened."

"Your first mission always feels like that. It did for me, in my first unit. I wasn't sure what happened or if it did happen. I got done what needed to be done, though, and that's what you did today. You took care of Spunkmeyer, you helped me get Crowe into surgery. That's all you had to do, and you did it."

Wierzbowski nodded. "Well, thanks f-for answering my . . . my question."

"Did you want to stay and talk? We have ten more minutes."

"OK." Wierzbowski sat on the bed, unsure of what to say.

Dietrich didn't know what to say, either. She shrugged before saying, "Or, we can sit here and stare at each other."

"See, you do have a sense of humor," Wierzbowski said, grinning a little.

"I don't even know if that was a joke or not."

* * *

_Question: How has Wierzbowski shown improvement with his reaction to the explosion?_

_Author's Note: I forgot to mention for Serene Fairy that Wierzbowski's armor graffiti is seen on behind-the-scenes photographs, but it's not clear in any film shots._


	15. Chapter 15

The squad looked up when Spunkmeyer hobbled into the mess hall on crutches. Frost stood to help him sit and lean the crutches against the table. "Hey, Spunk, how're you feeling?"

"Not quite sure," Spunkmeyer replied. "Holy crap, what kinda pain meds do you have me on, Dietrich?"

"The kind that will keep you from screaming my name for help every hour," Dietrich replied.

Wierzbowski smirked a little, looking down to keep it to himself.

Julian walked around the table to get a picture of Spunkmeyer, who said, "Oh, no, no, don't take a shot of me like this. Hey, you still got the pictures of me with my powerloader, right?"

"I do," Julian replied.

"Use those. Not this. Looks awful."

"Yeah, it's Drake's job to look sad and pathetic," Vasquez said.

Drake gave her a dirty look. He then looked at Dietrich. "How's Crowe doing?"

"Slept through the night. He's stable, and should be released later today," Dietrich said.

"Good, thanks."

"Is there anything I'm able to do for the next three weeks?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No," Dietrich answered. "No exercise, no powerloader. Nothing. The MRIs on your knee were horrendous and we don't need it getting worse."

"Fine," Spunkmeyer sighed. "Can I still take care of my loader-"

"No."

"Dammit."

"The powerloader needs to be inspected anyway. No need to use it for a little while," Hicks said.

"Inspected by who?"

"By some specialist mechanics. You, just worry about recovering, OK?"

Spunkmeyer looked disappointed.

After breakfast, Dietrich gestured for Wierzbowski to follow her back to her bedroom. Neither of them noticed Julian trailing, occasionally pausing to peer into a room.

"Is there anything we have to do today?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Make sure Crowe's starting to heal well. Keep Spunkmeyer from moving that knee," Dietrich replied, putting her blouse on. "I was also thinking . . . maybe the two of us can go out for dinner later."

Wierzbowski frowned. "C-Can I ask why?"

"No reason. Would you rather have dinner here?"

"Well, no, it's . . . it's an . . . OK idea."

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"No. No, there's nothing wrong."

"Does it sound like I'm interfering with you and Eliza?"

Wierzbowski shook his head. "No. We can go . . . out for dinner as friends. Eliza and I haven't made any plans for the next date."

Dietrich dropped eye contact with him, focusing on buttoning up her blouse. "How did you know you really like her?"

_Odd question._ "Not sure. I just . . . I did. I knew it. I wanted to keep spending time with her, and I wanted to start moving forward in our relationship. She did, too, and I think . . . I think that's when we really liked each other beyond just friends."

Dietrich nodded. "OK. Thanks."

"Can I ask _you_ something?"

"Sure."

"This is the second question you've asked me regarding love." Wierzbowski lowered his voice. "Are you just curious because it's something you've never really experienced, or . . . is there someone you're interested in?"

Dietrich was quiet for a minute. Her face flushed red, and got redder when Julian appeared in the doorway.

"Hey," Julian said. "You guys're the medics, right?"

"Yeah. What do you need?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Just hoping to ask a couple questions. I already spoke to you, Wierzbowski, I think I'll talk with . . . Dietrich, is it?"

Shyly, Dietrich nodded. She looked like she had been cornered.

Wierzbowski stayed near the doorway as Julian asked Dietrich her thoughts on her job, what she liked and didn't like, what motivated her to join the Marines. Like Wierzbowski, Dietrich watered down her story. She didn't tell Julian about her difficulties. As the interview went on, Wierzbowski could see her start to lose her composure. Dietrich looked down at her lap, and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Can you look at me, please? It's . . . kinda rude when you do that," Julian said.

"Do what?" Dietrich asked.

"Drop eye contact with me." Julian tilted his head a little. "Did I scare you?"

"N-No-"

"Then, could you . . . could you look at me, so we can finish this?"

"Why does it make a difference?" Dietrich covered her face.

"I just told you, it's rude. I'm not trying to be mean to you-"

"Leave her alone," Wierzbowski spoke up. His heart was in his throat, severely anxious about confronting a sergeant.

Julian looked over his shoulder at Wierzbowski. "Excuse me?"

_Don't get too angry. You're just telling him to back off, not fighting him. _"I said, sir, leave her alone. You've made her uncomfortable, so, please, let this go."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Julian sighed before standing up. "Alright. My apologies, Dietrich."

As soon as Julian left the room, Dietrich clenched her fists. "Asshole," she muttered.

"He's just doing his job," Wierzbowski replied.

"You saw what he was doing!" Dietrich covered her face again, tears running down her cheeks. "That was embarrassing!"

Wierzbowski sat next to her. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"No, no, I knew he was going to interview me sooner or later. I thought I was mentally prepared."

"And that's OK." Wierzbowski hugged Dietrich. "It happens. You weren't expecting it."

"I should have."

"Well . . . there's no need to beat yourself up over it. Trust me, it won't help."

Dietrich nodded a little. "I should go . . . check on Crowe."

"Want me to check on Spunkmeyer?"

"If you want."

* * *

Spunkmeyer was sitting in the courtyard with Drake and Hudson, drinking coffee from one of the on-site restaurants. He had his injured leg across Hudson's lap, and had somehow made Hudson shine his boots.

Wierzbowski gave Spunkmeyer a look. "Are you guilt-tripping people into doing things for you already?"

Spunkmeyer nodded, grinning at Wierzbowski. "Dietrich said I shouldn't be doing anything for three weeks. Could yous do me a favor, and go get me one of those packages of salted nuts from the vending machine in the lounge?" He handed Wierzbowski a five-dollar bill. "Thanks."

"I'll get it for him," Drake sighed, standing up and taking the money. "Sit down, Wierzbowski. It's only ten o'clock in the morning and you already look tired." He paused at the door. "Dietrich's not giving you a hard time, is she?"

"No, not at all. Not . . . anymore. We're actually pretty good friends now."

Drake gave a small smile. "That's good." His disappeared into the building.

Hudson sighed while continuing to rub a washcloth covered with polish on Spunkmeyer's right boot. "Can't believe you roped me into this, man."

"You said you'd do it. I haven't polished my boots in six months," Spunkmeyer replied.

"You could also take the bloody thing off, and polish it yourself." Wierzbowski rolled his eyes.

"Too late." Spunkmeyer stretched. "Put your back into it, Hudson."

"I'm just shining your fucking boots, man!" Hudson shouted.

Wierzbowski let out a quiet sigh. "Do any of you know how long Julian is supposed to be here?"

"Two days, I think," Hudson replied.

"He interviewed-well, tried to interview Dietrich, and didn't get the hint that he was making her uncomfortable until I said something."

"He did that with me, too, man. Yesterday morning."

"Well, you're you . . . and . . . Dietrich's not."

"I actually thought she'd start mouthing off to him," Spunkmeyer said.

"He's a sergeant. She'd never mouth off to someone who's a higher rank than her. No, it's hard for her to talk to people sometimes, and I felt bad, so I told Julian to back off."

"You weren't mean about it, were you? Apone's not gonna call you in his office for disrespecting a sergeant?"

"No, I was as polite as possible." Wierzbowski rubbed his face. "I feel awful, though. I know I was right in sticking up for Dietrich, but . . ."

"It's not in your nature to challenge people," Hudson said.

Drake set the packet of nuts next to Spunkmeyer after coming back from the lounge. "What'd I miss?"

"That photographer bugging Dietrich with an interview. Wierzbowski stood up for her."

"Without exploding like you did in Miranda's apartment last week?"

"No explosions. I was calm and polite," Wierzbowski said.

"Hey, it's a step in the right direction." Drake took a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of Miranda, does she take appointments for massages? I'd like to get one once a month."

"Once a month?" Hudson snorted. "She'd do every two weeks for you, man."

Drake smirked. "Even better."

"We're not going to be here for the rest of your contract," Wierzbowski said. "What're you going to do when we move to South America soon?"

"Yeah, I'd be really, really careful if you start shopping around for masseuses, Drake," Spunkmeyer added.

"I don't want someone I don't know touching me," Drake replied.

"Have Hudson fall on you. I'm sure that'll work the kinks out in a heartbeat."

Hudson gave Spunkmeyer a dirty look.

"I just want the kinks out, not a broken back and ribs." Drake smirked.

"Fuck you, man," Hudson mumbled. He looked down at Spunkmeyer's boot, snorted up mucus in the back of his throat, and spit on the top of the boot. "There. Your boots are done, man."

Spunkmeyer's jaw dropped. "Hudson, what the hell?"

Hudson stuck his tongue out. "You're gonna have to start kissing my ass if you want me to keep doing stuff for you. And don't start pulling the 'I'm hurt' card, man. That'll get old real fast."

"Well, seriously, get your spit off my boot."

"No."

"Please?"

Hudson thought for a moment. "Get me a chocolate bar, and I'll clean the spit off."

Spunkmeyer gave an annoyed groan before taking his crutches and forcing himself up. When he left the courtyard, Hudson smiled at Drake and Wierzbowski.

"I really hope you two don't do this the whole three weeks," Wierzbowski said.

"I don't think we will, man," Hudson replied. "He'll find someone else to do everything he wants."

"My money's on Ferro," Drake said. "They like each other, deep down."

"I'm honestly surprised they're not dating, man."

"Why should that be any of your business?" Wierzbowski asked.

"I'm friends with Spunkmeyer. We all live in close quarters together. Rumors spread, people get bored." Hudson shrugged. "Hey, when him and Ferro were new here, I once asked if she was available, but she said, 'Well, technically, yes.' I said, 'So . . . wanna give me a try?' She said no, and I left her alone. I asked Dietrich, too, once. She hit me with the leather belt off a dress uniform. I had a welt upside my face for a few weeks."

"I don't see Dietrich dating anyone, ever," Drake added. "Even if she wanted to, what guy is going to have the mental strength to put up with her? Anyone who tries would be insane. Or really brave. But mostly insane."

"I think she's got it in her to change," Wierzbowski said. "She's . . . actually been changing, somewhat, over the last few weeks, ever since she started training me."

"Good for her, man." Hudson nodded a little. "She's still mean, though."

"When you're not a pain, she's actually a decent person."

"We all know Hudson will never stop being a pain, though." Drake reached across the table to nudge Hudson's shoulder.

"I meant in general," Wierzbowski sighed. "I know neither of you will give her a second chance, but I gave her a chance, and she's been kind to me."

"You figured her out, man," Hudson replied, pushing Drake back. "You're that one person she can put up with-will you stop shoving me, man?!"

"You pushed me back, dumbass." Drake stood up to grab Hudson, putting him in a chokehold before roughly tousling his hair.

Wierzbowski got the impression neither of them were particularly interested, and a part of him couldn't blame them. He used to think Dietrich wasn't capable of change, either. _It's not my place to tell them how to feel regarding Dietrich, especially since she doesn't like them._

* * *

It turned out Dietrich hadn't really thought through her plan for her and Wierzbowski to go out to dinner. She stood in front of a map in the Metro station, looking indecisive. At one point, she stared down at the floor, frustrated that she couldn't make up her mind.

Wierzbowski glanced at her before looking at the map. "Would you mind if I made a suggestion?" he whispered.

"Um . . . go ahead," Dietrich mumbled.

"Eliza's taken me to a couple of good places. I think you might like this little restaurant in L'Enfant Plaza-it's very cozy, and the tables are spread out so we can talk a bit more freely."

Dietrich nodded. "OK. We'll give it a try."

Wierzbowski smiled a little before walking with Dietrich onto the train. They sat next to each other, and Dietrich continued to look at the floor, though Wierzbowski noticed her glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Eventually, she settled her gaze on him, and moved closer to him.

"Are you cold?" Wierzbowski asked.

For a second, Dietrich hesitated, then she nodded.

Wierzbowski put his arm around her, grinning. "It's early July. How are you cold?"

"I get cold easily. I'm sorry."

"OK. No need to apologize. You can just say that you're cold." He looked down at her. "Perhaps you should've brought a jacket."

"I should have," Dietrich muttered.

"Well, don't feel bad about it." Wierzbowski rubbed Dietrich's arm. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

"No. This is good till we get there."

"We've got two more stops. I recommend you get some hot chocolate or tea when we get to the restaurant. Should warm you up a bit."

When they arrived at their stop, Wierzbowski stood up first, and held out his hand to help up Dietrich. She took his hand, then didn't let go as they walked off the train. She seemed afraid to let go as they made their way through crowds of people on the platform, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

If Dietrich were Eliza, Wierzbowski would've been happy to let her climb on his back, and he would carry her aboveground and out of the station. She wasn't Eliza, though. _There are certain things you save for your girlfriend. That would be one of them. _Wierzbowski could still sense Dietrich's discomfort, and made sure he was holding her hand tightly as he moved toward the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Dietrich let go of Wierzbowski's hand, and walked alongside him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

Dietrich paused. "Nothing. Never mind."

"No, really, what're you trying to apologize for?"

"Just . . . for squeezing your hand. I . . . shouldn't have."

"That's OK. I got the sense you were a little nervous going through the rush hour crowd. It's alright."

Dietrich nodded. "If you say so."

In the restaurant, the first thing Wierzbowski did was order a hot chocolate for Dietrich. "I know this was your idea, but, I'll pay," he said.

"You don't have to."

"It's polite."

"But, this isn't a date."

"It's still polite."

Dietrich sighed. "Fine. If you insist."

There was silence as a waiter brought them drinks, and gave them time to decide what they wanted from the menu. Wierzbowski stirred his tea before looking at Dietrich, quizzically. "So, I don't think I got an answer as to why you wanted to do this. It seems odd, frankly, considering . . . I'm already dating someone, and you're . . . well . . ."

"I needed to get away from work for a little while. Is that OK?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "Why with me, though?"

"Because you're the only person I like and trust."

"I'm sure with time, you'll . . . you'll form better relationships with the others. I even told Hudson and Drake that you've changed a little, and they seemed proud . . . until they started roughhousing with each other."

"What do you mean, 'changed?'" Dietrich gave Wierzbowski a look.

"You . . . W-Well, you've gotten . . . y-you've gotten better about not snapping at me so much. A-And I've noticed . . . you're not acting distant toward me."

"That's with _you_. Nobody else."

"Surely, you can apply what you did with me with everyone else-"

"I don't want to. I can't. You were hard enough."

"Alright, then, I'll . . . let this go."

"Thank you."

Wierzbowski looked out the window, then back at Dietrich, unsure of how to start a new conversation. He didn't have to, though.

"I forgot to ask, how's Spunkmeyer doing?" Dietrich said.

"I can tell he's not in too much pain, because he made Hudson polish his boots this morning."

"Really?" Dietrich sighed. "Honestly, I really miss when Spunkmeyer was quiet and shy. Then Apone introduced him to the powerloader, he befriended Hudson, and now look at him."

"You do know what he came from, right?"

"That's not an excuse for him to be obnoxious." Dietrich looked down at the table. "Maybe if I approached him sooner about . . . how I felt, he'd still be somewhat tolerable."

"You didn't have that much of a relationship with him when you had a crush on him. Your feelings were based on looks alone, which isn't the best thing to go off of."

Dietrich nodded. "You're right. It's not."

"If you're interested in someone, you should get to know them before deciding you want to spend more and more time with them. Eliza and I knew almost nothing about each other when we first met, but . . . isn't that how all relationships start out? Whether it's friends or romantic partners, every relationship starts off with you knowing nothing about the person sitting across from you. You have to take the time and talk to each other. That's something . . . I didn't do my first time around." Wierzbowski paused. _I really shouldn't tell Dietrich my story before Eliza._

"You learned from your mistakes."

"Yeah. I'm also glad that I'm not making any mistakes with Eliza. I know for sure that I love her."

"How do you know?"

"Well . . ." Wierzbowski thought for a moment. "It's . . . It's something difficult to describe, unless you've experienced it yourself. You just know."

"Do you see yourself marrying her?"

"I can't be sure now. We've only been dating about three weeks. I hope we do. It'd take something drastic to make us stop seeing each other. I will miss her when we move bases. I just hope it doesn't do much of anything to our relationship."

Dietrich nodded a little. "I know I don't show it, but . . . I am happy for you." She stood up. "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?"

"Getting a drink."

* * *

_Question: Would things be somewhat different if Dietrich had opened up to Spunkmeyer?_


	16. Chapter 16

Wierzbowski expected Dietrich to just get a drink of her choice, and then come back. Maybe there was a line. Maybe she had to use the restroom. Regardless, it had been awhile, and he was starting to get worried. _Maybe she froze up._

Another part of Wierzbowski wanted to stay, and let Dietrich go. _She wouldn't be happy if I got worried over nothing. It might just be nothing. _He looked out the window, noticing how dark it had gotten. Night was still slowly emerging from the eastern horizon, painting over the deep reds, oranges, and pinks of sunset. Streetlights were flickering on, and the lights in skyscrapers were beginning to show as well. Wierzbowski wished he was sharing this with Eliza instead. He wondered if she was thinking about him, missing him, perhaps. _Maybe I should've called, spent dinner with her. Maybe I should finally take a step forward and spend the night with her._ A dull ache began to root in his chest. _I should've made plans. I miss her._

That simple glance out the window turned into a prolonged stare. Wierzbowski was lost in thought, regretting saying "yes" to going to dinner with Dietrich. _She's not even my girlfriend. We're just friends. I'm not obliged to say "yes" to her . . . but I don't want to seem like a bad friend. _Rubbing his face, Wierzbowski let out a sigh. He looked at his watch. _Alright, now it's time to get worried. It's been over ten minutes. _

Maybe it wasn't. Again, Wierzbowski hesitated, but he was beginning to struggle with patience. It wasn't until a heavy feeling of dread twisted his stomach when he decided he couldn't wait any longer.

There wasn't a very long walk to the bar, but people had begun to line up and order their drinks as they filed into the building. Wierzbowski could easily see over the heads of most of the people in the crowd, and he thought he saw a familiar head of brown hair slumped over at the bar.

"We can see you're drunk, lady, now go on home so you're not hogging a seat, here!" someone yelled.

"Just go away and leave me alone!" Dietrich cried.

_Oh, no._ Wierzbowski knew all too well the look on Dietrich's face when he saw her turn. Her cheeks were flush and her eyes were glazed. Tears had stained her face, and she didn't seem at all afraid to yell at the increasingly impatient customers. Pushing through the crowd, Wierzbowski found himself standing next to her. "It looks like you've had enough, Dietrich," he said.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I'm taking you home. Come on." Wierzbowski looked at the customers, as well as the bartender. "I'm really sorry if she caused any trouble." He lifted Dietrich off the stool, putting her arms around his neck before leaving the restaurant.

"'Ski, no . . ." Dietrich slurred. "Just don't drop me, dammit."

"I won't drop you, I promise." Wierzbowski felt Dietrich try to wrap her legs around his waist, and she hugged his neck tightly.

"I wanna go home." She started to sob. "Apone's gonna be so mad."

"No, he's not going to be mad. He's seen worse with Hudson."

Dietrich buried her face in Wierzbowski's shoulder. "I hate my job, 'Ski! All I do is treat Hudson!"

"You don't hate your job."

"I don't?"

"No."

"OK." Dietrich lazily adjusted her grip on Wierzbowski. "Where're we going?"

"Getting on the Metro to go back to base." Wierzbowski began praying he didn't trip while carrying Dietrich down the steps to the platform. She kept her head on his shoulder, muttering something incomprehensible. When they sat down in the train, Dietrich was on Wierzbowski's lap, almost touching his nose with hers. Wierzbowski could see the full extent of her drunkenness in her eyes, and he tried to remind himself that this was likely a one-time thing. _She probably overestimated her tolerance for alcohol._

Snaking her arms around his neck again, Dietrich put her head back on Wierzbowski's shoulder. Sighing, Wierzbowski rubbed her back. There were so many things he wanted to say and ask, but he knew now wasn't the right time. As he did when they sat together in the medical storage room a few days ago, he kept rubbing her back, gently, comfortingly. _You made a mistake, that's all. You don't have the problem I did. Why you went and drank, I don't know. I'm hoping it was just a mistake. You thought you could handle more, but you couldn't._

The sky had become darker when Wierzbowski walked onto the platform, still carrying Dietrich. She had been quiet for the ride home, and it seemed like maybe she had fallen asleep. Wierzbowski shifted her to a more comfortable position in his arms. As they entered the base, Wierzbowski noticed how quiet it was. _Good. No one will see Dietrich like this._ He carried her to her bedroom, and pulled back the covers to set her down. There were still tearstains on her cheeks, so Wierzbowski took a tissue from the box on Dietrich's nightstand to dry them. He paused after pulling the blanket up to her chin. A few heartbeats passed before he leaned down to kiss her forehead. An innocent enough gesture, right? Drake did it with Ferro all the time.

Whispering a "Good night," Wierzbowski quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He was glad that she was OK, and then a thought struck him. _If I said "no," earlier, she may have still done this. No one would be there to stop her or make sure she came back safely. Something awful might have happened if I didn't take her away in time._

Nothing bad did happen, though, and a sense of relief washed over Wierzbowski. _I'll sleep peacefully tonight._

* * *

Spunkmeyer leaned his crutches against the table before sitting down, then realized he didn't grab a tray. "Hey, Drake, could you be the best buddy ever and get me my breakfast?" He gave a sickly sweet smile.

Drake grunted at him before pushing a tray in Spunkmeyer's direction. "I'm not getting your food, though."

"Hudson-"

"Not after yesterday, man," Hudson said, without looking up from his tray.

"That's enough," Hicks ordered. "Spunkmeyer, I know what you're doing, and it's not funny. You have crutches. Use them to get up and get your own breakfast, got it?"

Spunkmeyer sighed heavily before getting up.

Hicks glanced around the table. "Where's Dietrich?"

Everyone fell silent.

"I said, where is Dietrich? Does anybody know?"

Wierzbowski knew, but couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

"No one saw her leave her bedroom this morning?"

Before Hicks stood up, Dietrich walked into the mess hall carrying a hot water bottle. Her face was red with shame.

Hicks was in disbelief, as was Apone.

Hudson looked at Drake. "I know that look, man."

"You are that look, dumbfuck," Drake whispered.

Hicks folded his arms over his chest. "Had a little too much to drink last night, Dietrich?"

She nodded, not making eye contact with him.

"Hey, look at me. I expect this shit from Hudson, not you. This is your first time, so I'm not gonna get too mad, but you're a corporal, for God's sake, and a medtech. This kinda behavior is unacceptable from you. Were you alone?"

Dietrich shook her head.

"Who were you with?"

She gestured to Wierzbowski. "He brought me home."

Hicks sighed. "Sit down, have breakfast, and then I'm gonna talk with you two in private."

Dietrich looked like she was about to cry as she sat down, but she held back her tears, despite it looking painful.

Hicks was a lot less angry when he sat with Wierzbowski and Dietrich in Apone's office after breakfast. "You both can be honest with me, right?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "Sir, I think it was just a mistake on her part."

Dietrich nodded in agreement. "I misjudged how much I could handle."

"Yeah. I think the important thing is that she's here and she's OK. I didn't let anything happen to her when I took her away from the bar and carried her back to base."

"That is true." Hicks shrugged. "Well, Dietrich, now you know you can't handle that much alcohol. If you start having problems, you know we have a lot of help available, OK?"

"Yes," Dietrich replied.

"Alright. You're both dismissed."

As the two left the office and headed to sick bay, Dietrich glanced at Wierzbowski. "Do you seriously believe that?"

"Believe what?" Wierzbowski asked.

"That I just simply misjudged my alcohol tolerance?"

"Well . . . yeah."

Dietrich was silent until they were alone in an examination room. She sat on the bed, looking Wierzbowski in the eye. "Can you keep this between us, 'Ski?"

"Absolutely."

"That wasn't what happened."

"Then, what happened?"

"I felt burnt out. No, I've been feeling burnt out . . . for a long time. Since before I started training you. I couldn't let that feeling get to me. I thought I could push past it, and . . . even though I've tried doing that in the past and all it did was make me have a meltdown. Every voice, every sound, every sensation feels like it's pounding against my head and I want it to stop and there's no way to make it stop . . . other than to get on my knees and scream, and make . . . everyone see it."

Wierzbowski nodded a little. "I take it you've actually done that. Got on your knees and screamed."

Tears rolled down Dietrich's face. "Yeah. I didn't want to get to that point."

"You thought you could drink it away."

Dietrich nodded.

"I speak from experience when I say it doesn't work. This isn't something you've done before, is it?"

"No. Why now, I don't know-"

"Well, I'm not mad, if that's what you're worried about. I understand it better than anyone, and . . . there's no reason to get mad. You've had a rough time, and everyone makes mistakes. That's life."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Not get mad at other people's mistakes."

"Never seen much of a reason to. You didn't do anything that could've gotten somebody killed. Plus, I know getting mad at you wouldn't help. That's probably how it's been all your life; people getting mad at you for little reason."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Wierzbowski sat next to her on the bed. "Do you feel better?"

"Somewhat, yeah. Thank you." Dietrich looked up at him, then hugged him. "I should thank you for being there last night, too."

"Just remember, if you ever need me, I'll be there. That's a promise I make to anyone I consider a friend."

* * *

As much as he was glad he didn't stress himself out with gifts this time, Wierzbowski felt bad for showing up at Eliza's apartment empty-handed. _She won't be mad. All she cares about is seeing me, and that's a good thing. _He knocked on the door, holding his breath.

Eliza opened it a second later, smiling up at Wierzbowski before hugging him. "Hi, sweetie, it's so good to see you again. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too." Wierzbowski hugged her tightly. "I wish we'd made plans last time went out. Then I wouldn't be dropping by unexpectedly."

"No, no, I love it when you drop by unexpectedly. It makes my day brighter."

"Well, that takes a load off my mind."

Eliza closed the door behind her as they walked into the apartment. "So, anything new with you?"

"Not really. I've been missing you a lot, that's for sure."

"I've been missing you a lot, too. Dreaming about you, too."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Just . . . dreams, that's all. Dreams where I'm sitting with you or snuggling with you. Dreams where you're not there and I want you there."

"I haven't dreamed a lot in the last few days. Or I have and I just don't remember it."

Eliza sat on the couch, gesturing for Wierzbowski to sit with her. She put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. "I also dreamt about that night in the barn. I think everyone's right when they say you always remember your first kiss. First _real_ kiss."

"I was your first real kiss? That can't be true."

"It's true."

"Well, then, you're my first real kiss, too." Wierzbowski pressed Eliza closer, kissing her forehead. "I love you."

It was nice to just sit in silence and enjoy each other's touch and company. Eliza's head was tucked under Wierzbowski's chin, the back of her hand rested on his chest, feeling the gentle pulsations of his heartbeat. Occasionally, they'd touch noses and kiss. Wierzbowski nuzzled Eliza's forehead, and his thoughts turned to last night, when he kissed Dietrich's forehead. _That was innocent and didn't mean anything._

"Everything OK? You look like your thoughts wandered for a minute," Eliza whispered.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Last night, I had to carry a squadmate back to base after she had too much to drink. When I put her to bed, I gave her a light kiss on the forehead. I . . . don't think it means anything other than 'I care about you,' and nothing more. Drake does it with Ferro all the time, and they're not dating."

"So, it's one of those, 'You're a close friend and I like you a lot, but I'll only kiss your forehead and hug you' kind of things?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's fine. It's not my place to tell you what you do with your friends, as long as you're not cheating." Eliza touched Wierzbowski's jawline. "And I don't see it in you to cheat."

Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment. "Eliza, do you . . . see us getting married one day?"

"How long have we been dating?"

"About a month, I think."

"It's still a little early to be thinking about that, sweetie. I haven't even told my parents about you, yet."

"OK."

"But, to answer your question, yes, I do see us getting married someday. I haven't been given any reason to stop seeing you. You do, however, need to get over your nerves about being in the same bed as another person. I don't care that you don't want to have sex, but I don't think it'd be good for you to be on the couch for the rest of your life. Don't let what everyone else says bother you."

Wierzbowski let out a sigh. "If I don't want this to be like my first marriage, I should be less shy."

"This is already nothing like your first marriage."

"And I want to keep it that way. I know I can get past this."

"It's really not something worth getting worked up about. You'll get there when you get there, sweetie." Eliza used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away Wierzbowski's tears. "You did say you were going to tell me what happened."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Wierzbowski took a breath. "Alright, well . . . I got married after only three or four months of dating this woman. I had already known about her issues with money because she told me on the second date. I thought it was just one credit card she owed a lot on-turns out, she lied. There were five cards she owed money on. I got suckered into feeling bad and offering to help. When it seemed like things had straightened out, I asked about marriage, and it . . . didn't take me very long to realize I made a bad, bad choice.

"After getting married, I added her to my account, and I thought things would get better. We didn't do anything together. We didn't even have a honeymoon. After only a couple of nights, she slept on the couch, and then demanded we get an apartment with two bedrooms because she didn't want to sleep with me. I asked why, and she said she just didn't. With no . . . clear reason, I was certain it had something to do with me. I felt awful about myself, and it continued for over a year. I didn't know what to do. Do I quit? Do I search for a counselor? What do I do?

"It . . . wasn't until I got several phone calls about my bank account and my credit card that I decided to quit. Thousands and thousands of pounds in debt. I was financially ruined. I was emotionally ruined. Everything I had was ruined. She maxed out my card. She bled my savings and checking account dry. I demanded a divorce. I wanted to know where my money was. I was angry, and I didn't . . . I didn't get the impression that people felt sorry for me. I wasn't looking for sympathy, but I . . . I-I was blamed for what happened. Everyone I knew told me it was my own fault I got sucked into this mess. If I wasn't so damn quiet, I'd ask more questions. If I wasn't so damn pathetic, I would've stood up for myself sooner."

"You're not pathetic," Eliza whispered.

"I was back then."

"No. And . . . this is what led to you drinking?"

"Yeah. I never got everything back together. I actually moved to London, in an attempt to get away. That didn't work; my family knew people in London, and they told them where I was, somehow. I was bombarded with phone calls every day, and I just . . . found myself sinking further and further into a dark spot. I was so tired of being blamed for my marriage and divorce and ruining my finances. I couldn't even start over. I didn't know how to say, 'Please, leave me alone.' I knew damn well grabbing that bottle of whiskey when I went to buy my essentials one day wasn't right . . . but I grabbed it anyway. And so it began." Wierzbowski rubbed his face, sighing.

Eliza snuggled closer to him. "Thank you for telling me. I feel like I understand you better now, and I'm so sorry this all happened to you."

"I should thank you, too, for listening."

Eliza kissed him. "That's what I'm here for. I will never, ever do the things this person did to you, I promise."

"I know." Wierzbowski glanced up at a clock. "Soon, I . . . I'll get an overnight pass, and we'll share the bed together. But . . . I have to get going. One more kiss, love."

After sharing one last kiss for the night, Wierzbowski got up to leave. He hugged Eliza, and whispered, "I love you," before disappearing into the hallway.

* * *

Dietrich wasn't in her bedroom when Wierzbowski went to check on her shortly before lights-out. Much to his surprise, he found her sitting under a blanket in the lounge with the lights off, watching an old black-and-white movie on the television.

"You do realize lights-out is in five minutes, right?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Shh!" Dietrich put her finger to her lips. "I know." She patted the space next to her. "Sit."

Shrugging, Wierzbowski sat next to her, and she offered him part of the blanket. "So, what are you doing?"

"Just . . . something I've always done since I was a teenager," Dietrich whispered. "Stayed up late or got up really early to find the classic film channel and watch for a few hours. It's an escape. Better escape than what I did last night."

Wierzbowski nodded. "Why let me in, though?"

Dietrich looked at him, making eye contact, and holding his gaze. "Because I trust you, and I like you, as a friend."

A small smile crossed Wierzbowski's face. "I trust you and like you, too."

* * *

_Question: Was Wierzbowski an active or passive protagonist (meaning, did he move the plot along, or did he simply react to events around him)?_

_Author's Note: Since the next story I publish will be my twentieth, I plan on doing a special, comprised of two short stories that take place during the events of "Ice Star." One follows Hicks looking after Ripley, and the other follows Hudson immediately after receiving his discharge. Happy reading, - Cat._


End file.
